


His Omega Son

by lordelannette



Series: Dark Steve Rogers Fics [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Breeding, Commander Steve Rogers, Daddy Kink, Dark Steve Rogers, High Alpha Steve Rovers, Incest, Innocent James "Bucky" Barnes, Jealous Steve, Knotting, M/M, Omega Bucky Barnes, Parent/Child Incest, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve is Bucky's Dad, Top Steve Rogers, Underage Bucky Barnes, Yes. Biological Dad., heed the tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21569158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordelannette/pseuds/lordelannette
Summary: All Commander High Alpha Rogers has ever wanted was loyalty and love. In a world of rebels and false loyalists to the Nation, he could trust no one, marry no one, and love no one.That only left one answer.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Dark Steve Rogers Fics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1457959
Comments: 230
Kudos: 847





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Parent/Child Incest Fic. If it doesn't float your boat, then I would suggest you head on off ASAP. 
> 
> This is totally and completely an enjoyment series for me, and while I will do my best to have it be some good, quality material, this isn't something I'm gonna stress about like my other main stories.

“Commander, what do want us to do with the body?” 

Steve blinks at the dead woman laying across his study floor, watching how the dark red blood soaks into the rug. He can smell the metallic tang beneath his nose, can almost  _ taste  _ it, being such a familiar scent by now. 

It coats his fingers that are holding the cigarette to his lips, cracking against his flesh now that it’s minutes old. It’s splattered against the wall, stains the chair in front of Steve’s desk, covers the knife that sits on his thigh and drips across his slacks. Little droplets of ruby red trickling down, down, down onto the wood floor beneath his feet. 

Steve tilts his head back against the leather headrest of his leather chair and slowly exhales a puff of smoke into the air, watching it drift before his very eyes. The smell of the nicotine masks the iron that clings in the room, but just barely. 

Finally, he tears his gaze away from the body and lazily flicks them toward the lieutenant standing at parade rest, waiting for Steve’s command. His eyes stay trained on the man as he takes another deep drag of his cigarette, holding it in until it burns, then blowing it out once more. The lieutenant doesn’t break but Steve can see the small beads of sweat gathering at his temple. 

Steve huffs out a dry laugh and shrugs his shoulders as his lips curl around the end of the cigarette. “Feed it to the dogs for all I care,” he says because it’s what he means. He’s never been one to not be blunt.

The lieutenant’s eyes widen just a fraction and he shoots a quick look to the body before he nods his head in acceptance and spins out of the room. Seconds later, the lieutenant returns, this time with three more uniformed soldiers that all keep their head down and move straight to the corpse. They each grab a limb and given the slim nature of the woman and the brute strength of soldiers, they’re able to hoist her up with little effort. 

Silently, Steve’s eyes trail their movements and when the woman’s head falls back lifelessly due to the force, it’s almost hypnotic how the long curtain of blonde hair trickles in the puddle surrounding her body, painting across his floor like she’s creating a piece of art even in her death. 

On their way out, another person passes them, entering the room, and soon enough, Steve finds himself looking into the face of his right hand man-- the only person that Steve would ever think to trust his life with. Sam Wilson, someone who has been with Steve since the very first time he stepped foot on a battlefield, has both of his eyebrows raised and a look on his face that instantly makes Steve chuckle. 

It’s a rough laugh though, forced, and it does nothing to mask the fury that boils in his veins. 

“That was wife number three, Steve.”

Steve drops his hand from his mouth and crushes the cigarette in the ashtray, long and slow, watching as the pieces crumble beneath his fingers. 

“She was a rebel. A spy for S.H.I.E.L.D. I planted a fake folder and like the insolent,  _ bitch  _ of a cunt that she was, she fell for it,” Steve said, letting his words drag out. “I gutted her like the animal she was.” 

“She was your chosen omega,” Sam points out, his tone exasperated and tired. “She was to give you your child.”

As if Steve didn’t already know that. Baring his child was the only reason Steve had kept her untolerable self around. But Sam’s reminder is like someone slaps him across the face and he’s left feeling the sting. Sharp and painful, making his chest clench. 

Steve’s eyes snap up to Sam. The fire blazes within them. “She wasn’t my omega,” he hisses through clenched teeth. He can feel his anger bubbling up, reaching dangerous, deadly levels. “She never was. Sharon was disloyal just like the rest of them.”

“Nevermind the woman, Steve!” Sam snaps back. A bold, risky move and Steve’s hand grips into the armrest of his chair, halting the urge to grab for his gun and send a bullet straight through Sam’s forehead. The urge of murder is something he can control, however, the low growl of warning that rumbles deep in his throat is something that he cannot. 

Sam lowers his head, submitting, and immediately reigns himself back in, before straightening up and showing Steve a side that no one beside his husband, Riley, must see. “You want loyalty,” Sam reminds him, as if Steve hasn’t had that in mind for the past five years, ever since he watched Sam find an omega to love and call his own. Steve bites down, clenching his jaw. “You need it in the world we live in, knowing those at every corner would  _ kill  _ you if they got the chance. Spouses included. You want someone to love and you know that the  _ only  _ way you’ll get both of those is if you have a child-- someone you can mold from the very first breath they breathe. They’ll never once think about betraying you because you’ll be their whole world. You  _ know  _ this. That was your plan for Sharon.” 

Steve knows that. Jesus fuck, he knows! It’s what he’s wanted since before he took his first wife-- the promise of a child with unwavering loyalties, someone Steve could love and take care of, someone he could create and worship. But he also knows that the realization of Sharon’s rebellion struck something deep within him. She had been a promised wife. She was someone that he was supposed to trust, even though he never had. Sharon had been a high ranking member of the Nation yet she hadn’t hesitated to trade their secrets to S.H.I.E.L.D. Was she against him or their organization, he would never know but he also didn’t give a damn. Betraying one, meant betraying both, and betraying either meant death. 

He may have never liked her but he had  _ plans  _ for her. She was to bare him his child and yet now, even that promise was gone. She had taken  _ everything  _ from him with her deflection and so Steve had taken everything from her too, including her very own life. Her screams still echoes through Steve’s skull and he hates that he didn’t prolong her suffering. He should have kept her alive for months,  _ years  _ even, because she had taken the possibility of his child and his child was everything. 

Everything. 

Steve inhales deeply, trying to soothe the ache in his chest and the tightness of his throat. It doesn’t help. Neither had the cigarette or the whiskey bottle that now sits empty on the corner of his desk. 

“I want it, Sam,” he quietly confesses, hearing the almost sickening vulnerability in his voice. This is what the bitch had done to him. She had broken him without laying a single finger on him. He had killed thousands, lost comrades, seen the worst war crimes imaginable, yet nothing hurt as much as this. This felt like someone stabbed him in his chest, straight through his heart, and twisted it with every passing second. “More than anything.” 

He isn’t used to seeing pity on other people’s faces, especially being directed at him. He’s used to anger, spite, hatred,  _ fear  _ but not pity-- never pity. But pity is certainly what’s on Sam’s face. The emotion practically drowns Steve and he almost bristles, but not quite. He wouldn’t dare show that much weakness, not when he’s the Commander High Alpha. He can suffer in silence. “You can still have it,” Sam insists. “We’ll find someone else. We can find a new omega--”

“And what, kill another rebel five months later?”

Sam winces. “No. There are loyalists.”

“Of course there are loyalists!” Steve barks out, baring his teeth. “There will always be loyalists. We wouldn’t have ever overthrown S.H.I.E.L.D. if there weren’t!”

“Then we find one. We bring an omega here, have them birth your child. You can’t just give up.”

“I’m not giving up,” Steve growls again. He can feel the hair on the nape of his neck stand on edge. 

Again, Sam backs down, bowing his head. They’ve been close enough for almost a decade now, and this is their routine. Sam understands Steve’s temper, tolerates it, and never tries to go against him. It’s what keeps their companionship solid. But watching Sam now, Steve understands that Sam is the only source of familiarity that he has. His parents are dead. He has no relatives. No spouse. No children. If Steve were to die in the next minute, Sam would maybe be the only one to feel something. 

“Then what do you want to do, Steve?” Sam sighs. “What’s the call?”

And isn’t that the question? What does Steve want now? Does he want to waste another three years trying to find a loyal omega to bare him his child? Does he dare try to find love in such a cruel world where someone would hug him only to drive a knife in his back? He’s tired of this game. It’s exhausting. 

He thinks long and hard on that question. For hours he sits at his desk, staring at nothing. He sits there for so long that Sam disappears after a while and comes back hours later with a dinner tray in his hand. Sam just silently places it on the desk and moves to spin around until Steve’s eyes land on him. 

Sam tilts his chin down as if he prepares himself for whatever it is that Steve’s about to say. 

“No more,” Steve says. His voice is nothing but a whisper but Sam hears him loud and clear. 

“No more?” Sam echoes. Almost dumbfounded. His lips part in confusion as he stares at Steve, so many questions in those chocolate brown eyes of his. 

“No more outsiders,” Steve clarifies with conviction, leaving no room for argument. Sam still doesn’t get it; Steve can’t blame him. “I want my own omega, my own spouse that I can trust. Someone who won’t betray me. Someone I can love more than anything and everything.” 

Slowly, Sam nods like he’s trying to understand. “We can look into the omega offspring of the officials. Surely one of them will be willing to marry.”

Steve cuts him off again, this time with an impatient sigh. “You aren’t listening, Sam.”

“I’m trying to.”

And yes, Steve supposes that Sam is. He’s still here, afterall. Steve licks at his lips before swallowing, knowing how the words he’s about to say will sound. “I don’t want an outsider spouse. I don’t want to marry another person who can turn out to be a rebel. I want my own.”

Sam’s brows are bunched together in confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“You were right before. When you said that having my own child is the only way I can ever get what I need,” Steve answers, his voice tight knowing the implications of what he’s saying. What he’s speaking of hasn’t been done for a century, not after the 1920s. “I can breed my own loyalty, my own love.”

The understanding still hasn’t dawned on Sam.

Steve meets his friend’s gaze head on. “My omega and my child will be the same person.”

Sam tries to hide his reaction but Steve knows this man and can see how his eyebrows twitch upwards, how his eyes almost widen. His lips begin to part in shock before he corrects himself. “You… you want to mate your child?” Sam asks slowly, carefully. 

With one firm, irrefutable nod, Steve’s word is put into effect.

* * *

Ten months later, Steve stands in the corner of the hospital room as the selected breeder pushes out his firstborn. 

It’s a girl. Healthy and pink, with a head of dark brown hair and her mother’s hazel eyes. Steve sees  _ nothing  _ of himself in the newborn but his eyes stay sharp on the baby as the doctor cleans her up only to eagerly hand her off to the awaiting mother. 

The breeder, who Steve knows nothing about, not even a name, clutches the child to her naked chest and smoothes her thin fingers through the baby’s brown hair. With the newborn flush to her chest, Steve watches the breeders face, noting it’s possibly the first time that he’s actually ever looked at her so closely. The smile on her face is almost blinding despite the flush of exertion on her cheeks and the dampness of her sweat soaked hair. He may have picked her picture from the small list of viable options but she’s foreign to him, valuing to be nothing to him and with the way she keeps darting apprehensive glances his way, she must know it too. 

But then it hits him.

He realizes that she wasn’t watching him because of what a shared child would mean for them, rather she was scared. Nervous. And now that Steve hones in on the scent, he realizes that she had ever right to be.

Because all that Steve can train on now is the fresh scent of a newborn alpha. 

An  _ alpha _ . 

Steve clenches his jaw, crosses his arms against his chest, and leaves the room without a word to anyone. 

Later, when he signs the birth certificate, he learns that her name is Rebecca. 

* * *

Fourteen months later, he’s locked inside his office in the darkness and nursing a bottle of whiskey. 

It’s been two hours since he learned that his second born was lost. Miscarried at eight weeks. As soon as the doctor had informed them about the loss, the breeder-- Winnie, as he learned long ago-- had begun to sob uncontrollably, clutching Becca to her chest as if she was trying to keep her daughter safe. Her cries had hit Steve’s ears and Steve just couldn’t handle any of it. 

The sobbing breeder to be. 

The child who had looked at them both in confusion, babbling away with oblivion. 

The doctor who offered his condolences. 

The gaping hole in Steve’s chest at the possibility that he had just lost his omega. 

He had clenched down hard on his jaw and left the room, barking out an order to the nearby guard to escort them both home when they were done. 

From there, he had gone to his office and demanded not to be disturbed. Out came the whiskey bottle, off came his uniform jacket and tie, and for the first time in a long, long time, Steve cried. 

Now, in the darkness, no one can see the streaks on his cheeks or the tears that continue to fall. Everything hurts, his heart especially. 

* * *

Four months after Rebecca turns three, she gets a little brother. 

Once again Steve finds himself tucked into the corner of a hospital room, watching the doctor’s every move as the same aging man huddles in front of Winnie’s open legs. It’s been a long labor, over twelve hours, and not once has Steve left the room. 

The inside of his cheeks are bitten raw. 

Then, the doctor finally leans forward announcing he can see the head and Steve holds his breath when the nurse encourages Winnie with, “Just one more push, m’am. You can do it.” 

He bites so hard into his cheek that he tastes blood. 

And then Winnie delivers and Steve’s air gets caught in his throat when he gets the pleasant soft whiff of sweetness, that telltale smell of innocence and gentleness; the scent of sugar and honey, blended into the heavenly breeze that makes Steve’s nostrils flare. 

It’s the smell of an  _ omega _ . 

Steve’s lips part and suddenly, nothing else ceases to exist. All that he focuses on is his son, never once taking his eyes off of his newborn as the nurses shuffle to the side and wipe away the vernix that covers the pink flesh and clears his airways. 

A few taps is all it takes until the baby’s lungs open up and he takes that delicate, first gasp of air and then wails his little heart out. 

Steve’s never heard a more beautiful sound. 

Minutes later, the doctor has his son bundled up and begins to turn towards Winnie, but Steve finally unhinges himself from his corner and takes that step forward. His hands wrap around the fragile bundle of his son and pulls the baby straight from the doctor’s arms into his own. 

From that moment on, Steve’s entire world shifts. His eyes scour his son. Brown hair like Rebecca, pink fleshy skin that is smooth to the touch, the softest little cleft in his chin. Steve loses track of how long he stares down at his son, but he’s aware enough that when the doctor and nurses leave, he turns his shoulders to obscure their eyes from his son.

When the room is finally empty, Steve sits down in the padded recliner and makes himself comfortable. He knows he’s not going anywhere for a long while. 

“L-Let me hold him,” Winnie suddenly says from the bed. Her voice breaks the sweet silence of the room and immediately his son’s face scrunches up at the intrusion. 

Steve soothes him with soft little  _ sssh’s  _ instead of acknowledging her. He doesn’t pay her any mind so he doesn’t see how her eyes are wide and terrified as they dart between Steve and their son. 

But Steve’s ears are skilled enough that when Winnie’s lips part to repeat herself, he cuts her off before she can begin. “ _ I’ve got him _ ,” Steve declares and his tone leaves no room for any exceptions. 

She doesn’t ask again-- not when their son cries for food or when Steve demands a freshly pumped bottle or when Steve unbuttons his shirt and initiates skin to skin contact as he holds the bottle up for his son, watching as small lips latch onto the rubber nipple. 

For the first time in forever, Steve is happy. 

When the doctors present the birth certificate, asking for a name, Steve answers without hesitation. “James Buchanan Rogers,” he supplies without looking up. His index finger strokes his son’s pudgy cheek. “Bucky,” he whispers. “My Bucky. My sweet omega.”


	2. Chapter 2

Steve stands silently in the doorframe of the playroom, letting his eyes take in the scene before him. Winnie is sitting in the rocking chair with Bucky in her lap, Becca at her feet as she plays with her dolls. None of them have noticed his arrival so he gets to watch them freely, in their natural state. There’s something distinctly different watching them like this, interacting with one another before his eyes, instead of monitoring them through the security feeds. 

It feels more real, something that can make him breathe easier knowing that if something  _ were  _ to happen, he’d be right there. One step away from his son and ready to do everything in his power to keep Bucky safe. 

At ten months old, Bucky is as vulnerable as he could possibly be. He touches everything, puts anything he can into his mouth, could choke on whatever’s the slightest millimeter too big. Every precaution has been put into place on Steve's floor but one can never be too careful, especially with a toddler as active as Bucky. The boy never stops moving; he’s like a beam of electric energy that crackles every time he plays or crawls, and as of late, when he takes those stumbling baby steps. 

Bucky is light. There’s no other words to put it, and when the boy is there, everything surrounding him glows at the proximity, demanding everyone’s attention in the room. Like now, as Steve can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away. 

Except he does when he finally registers what it is that Winnie is doing. She’s bouncing Bucky on her lap, holding him carefully as she coos down at him, soft and gentle. Normally it wouldn’t be a problem. Steve usually lets her interact with Bucky like this because she’s his caregiver when Steve is gone, but he has always made it clear that she is to not overstep his boundaries. 

And right now, she most certainly is. Although she is treating Bucky with care, she’s also encouraging him to speak.

“Can you say Mama, sweetie?” she asks, face bright with a soft smile aimed at Bucky. “Ma...ma,” she says long and slow, nodding at Bucky to get him to say it. 

Bucky is watching her. His bright blue eyes, ones that are identical to Steve’s, are wide and curious and he’s looking at her face as she keeps talking. When Steve sees Bucky’s small mouth open as if he’s trying to form the words, he unglues himself from the door frame and makes his presence known. 

“Do you really think that’s wise to do?” Steve asks, stepping close to Winnie and clenching his jaw. Her head snaps to him immediately and the hands that she has holding Bucky with move upward more, splaying across his small back and bringing him toward her chest. Like she’s sheltering him, trying to keep Steve away. 

Steve almost laughs. He doesn’t bother himself with it and stops fully at her side, looking down at her and sending a hard look in her direction. Bucky is aware of him now and squirms in her hold as he tips his chin up to find Steve’s face. Pudgy, delicate hands reach up for Steve and at first Winnie tries to pull them back down but Steve is faster and he reaches his arms out and grabs Bucky right out of her grasp. 

It feels like he can breathe properly once Bucky is tucked into his chest, resting in Steve’s arm. “Hi, baby boy,” he breathes out. Bucky’s forehead presses into Steve’s collarbone and Steve gently kisses the top of his brown hair. 

“I’m his mother.”

Steve rolls his eyes, moving his attention back onto Winnie. “You’re his caretaker. Nothing more.”

“You had no problems with it when I did it with Becca,” she says back, softly and almost inaudibly that it if it weren’t for Steve’s heightened senses, he would have missed it. Still, hearing her talk backs make his eyes go sharp, a growl of warning building up in his throat. 

He doesn’t use it because he doesn’t want to frighten Bucky. Instead, his eyes dart down to the carpet where Becca’s dolls have been abandoned and he meets those hazel eyes that are almost foreign. Becca has her bottom lip pulled between her teeth and her gaze is darting between them. Just as quick as Steve looked at her, he pulls his gaze away. 

“Don’t be ignorant,” he tells Winnie, his tone hard and cutting. He doesn’t wait around for a response. He takes Bucky and leaves.

* * *

It’s a bad day. 

There’s a tumbler of whiskey that sits on his desk untouched as he hunches over, holding his head in his hands and digging his elbows into the tops of his thighs. He’s had a headache growing over the last hour but now it pounds in his temples, making him grit hard on his teeth. 

S.H.I.E.L.D. had tried to breach into their territory. They had sent a small task force to the North Eastern border trying to get in, blowing up a compound in the process. The situation had been quickly handled and controlled, as it was meant to be, but lives were lost-- Steve’s soldiers had been killed. Not a lot -- twenty two, to be exact -- but it was twenty two lives nonetheless. Of course compared to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s few dozen that had been put out, the figures were telling. 

It’s no secret that S.H.I.E.L.D. is beginning to dwindle. Losing numbers and resources by the day. Fury is one persistent son of a bitch, like a fly that never really goes away, always buzzing in Steve’s goddamn ear. He’s also getting desperate, if that sad excuse of an attack was anything to go by. 

Still… Steve’s knuckles are raw and they throb. He had beaten a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent lifeless just an hour ago, trying to pull intel. It worked-- it  _ always  _ works-- but he would never trust it on a blind eye and the constant state of not knowing the truth always sets Steve on edge, makes his heart pound faster. It always leaves him with a killer fucking headache too. 

He needs a distraction, something to clear his mind, and his hand goes straight to his phone. He taps the contact and on the first ring, the line clicks. “Yes, sir?”

“Bring me my son,” he instructs, short and straight to the point, before ending the call. 

Ten minutes later, there’s a distinct knock at his door and at Steve’s cue, the door to his office swings open. And there he is. 

At two years old Bucky is tall, but he doesn’t quite yet stand high enough to reach Sam’s knees. His brown hair is wild like he’s been running around and Steve’s thoughts are validated because not a second later, Bucky’s feet start to quickly and softly pitter-patter against the wood floor of Steve’s office. 

Bucky’s little legs shoot out and he runs as fast as he can to Steve, who’s waiting with his arms held out, ready to pluck his son up as soon as he can. He swipes Bucky up into his chest as Bucky shrieks, “Daddy!” It’s his way of saying hello, not quite understanding yet that hello isn’t a term that is reserved only for outsiders. 

It doesn’t matter though because Steve hears that word come from Bucky’s mouth and it instantly turns his mood around, making him smile as he wraps his arms around Bucky’s small body, engulfing him in a hug. He peppers kisses along Bucky’s face, making his son giggle. It’s precious, is what is it. The sound makes Steve’s heart flutter. 

“Hi, baby boy,” he says, holding Bucky close and feeling himself get grounded. He breathes in his son’s scent, something that has become ingrained into his skull by now. Steve feels his body relax. Slowly, the headache ebbs away. 

His gaze finds the third person in the room and he nods, just a dip of his chin, and Sam does the same before spinning on his heel and closing the door quietly behind him. 

“Bye-Bye,” Bucky waves at the door. 

* * *

Steve wakes up to the sound of fabric moving and the softest, gentlest puff of effort. His eyes snap open and his gaze turns sharp in the darkness of the room. His door is cracked open and he sits up, getting ready to roll out of bed, until he hears the blankets being tugged again. 

He turns his head to the left and the first thing he sees is a pale little hand clutching at his bedsheets. He follows that hand and blinks in surprise when he sees Bucky-- his blue eyes scrunched in concentration and bottom lip bitten between his teeth. He’s a persistent three year old, but climbing up a bed is a task that’s difficult to accomplish. 

Bucky looks up and his eyes go wide as he sees Steve’s awake. “Daddy,” he whispers, and one of his palms releases the sheets to reach toward Steve, silently asking for help. Steve immediately leans over and hooks his hands beneath Bucky’s armpits, pulling him all the way up.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing?” 

Bucky scrambles up Steve’s body before he picks up the thick comforter and crawls underneath it. He’s pressed closed to Steve’s side and instantly, Steve goes tight with worry. “Bucky, what’s wrong?”

Bucky burrows deeper into the blankets and pillows. Steve watches his every move. He feels the sense of panic begin to creep up his spine the longer Bucky stays quiet and he starts to think that maybe Bucky is ill or worse, hurt, but then finally Bucky answers, “I haved a bad dream.”

Relief pours through Steve and he’s finally able to relax back into the mattress. He moves onto his side and wraps his arms around Bucky’s small body, pulling him into a hug against his chest. Steve’s lips settle against the soft waves of Bucky’s hair. “Oh, sweetheart, it was just a dream,” he whispers, moving his hand up and down Bucky’s back. “Do you wanna tell me about it?”

Bucky dips his chin down and shuffles himself closer. “It was a monster. It tried to eat me, Daddy,” Bucky mumbles. 

Normally Bucky doesn’t have any problems sleeping but ever since Steve switched him from his crib to a big boy bed, the change has been unsettling him. Steve had slept in Bucky’s room the first two nights, crammed up in a toddler bed that made his back a bit achy but it had been completely worth it seeing the smile on Bucky’s face and feeling his son curl into him. Today he had let Bucky be on his own, but obviously it hadn’t done justice giving his son comfort. 

Steve knows he should probably walk Bucky back to his bedroom, insist that there’s no such things as monsters, and make sure he gets tucked back under his covers but the truth is, Steve doesn’t want to. As much comfort as Bucky had gotten those first two nights, Steve had gotten just as much, maybe even more. It had felt right having Bucky at his side, at the ready for any sign of a problem. He could protect Bucky better like this, rather than have him down the hall where Steve would be seconds away.  _ This  _ was better. 

So Steve let him stay. Steve  _ made  _ Bucky stay. He kept his arms wrapped around his son and brushed his fingers through Bucky’s hair, whispering his promise, “Nothing and no one will ever hurt you as long as I’m here.” 

Their night together in Steve’s bed may be the first, but it doesn’t become the last. 

* * *

Steve isn’t God so although he promises one thing, it isn’t set in stone, no matter how hard he tries. 

It’s right on the change of season so it’s perfect weather for overseeing the training shooting of the lower ranks. There’s been talk of a young marksman whose quite skilled with a bow but they’re trying to switch him over to firearms. Steve’s been keeping an eye on the young soldier but he’s too much of a goof to be taken serious enough to promote. He has a hell of an aim though.

It’s right when he watches the young archer hit his twelfth consecutive bullseye that Steve hears someone running up to him and the other supervisors. The dark navy uniform isn’t anything signifying, but the red star on the soldier’s lapel identifies him as one of the Capitol guards. 

The soldier stops before them, saluting, but Steve cuts him off with a rushed, “ _ What happened? _ ”

The soldier’s answer makes Steve’s heart sink. “It’s your son, Commander.”

Steve doesn’t know how fast he gets to the gardens but he gets there winded, with his heart pounding in his chest and the air being sucked into his lungs greedily. He doesn’t pay any of it mind though because his eyes lock onto his son and everything tilts on its axis. 

Bucky’s on the ground, kicking and screaming, and he has his left arm cradled against himself. He’s sobbing and the small ring of soldiers around him don’t move in, they stay hovering on the side apart from one that is hunched in front of Bucky. Becca is right there, too. 

Becca sees him first and she runs up to him. “He jumped off the slide! I told him not to but he didn’t listen to me!” Steve can see the panic in her eyes but he bypasses her quickly, marching across the garden’s grounds. The soldiers part for him wordlessly and Steve shoves the one in front of Bucky to the side, too enraged by the shushes the soldier is directing at Bucky. 

Steve drops to his knees and Bucky immediately clambers into his arms. The tears are streaming down Bucky’s face and Steve’s heart breaks. “Daddy! Daddy, it hurts,” Bucky sobs into his chest and Steve’s arms go around him before he gently lifts him off the ground. 

He situates Bucky in his arms, minding his left one because it’s clearly broken, and lifts his hand to pull Bucky’s head into the crook of his neck. His little whimpers are clear in Steve’s ear and knowing that his son is hurt and that he’s suffering, makes the fury flare up inside of him because this should have been  _ avoided _ . These soldiers are supposed to protect him--  _ Becca  _ is supposed to protect him. 

Yet, Bucky is hurt and the others… the others just stand there, staring. 

The hand not holding Bucky moves straight to the gun holster at his thigh. His fingers yank at the handle of his gun until it’s free, and before anyone can move, he has it out and pressed into the back of the soldier’s skull-- the one who had tried to hush Bucky’s cries. 

Before the soldier can even blink, Steve pulls the trigger. Red splatters against the green grass and it’s almost in slow motion how the soldier falls face first, lifeless. 

Bucky had jumped at the sudden noise and just as he tried to turn to look, Steve slid the gun back into his holster and wrapped it around the back of Bucky’s neck, keeping him in place. Steve whispers his words of comfort into Bucky’s ear, presses his lips against those tear-streaked cheeks, and heads straight for the hospital wing. 

The entire way up, he could hear Becca’s steps struggling to stay caught up. 

\---

Two hours later, Steve puts Bucky down in bed, using a pillow to elevate his arm. His left arm is covered in a thick white cast, something that is hard where Bucky is usually soft to the touch. 

A hairline fracture, is what the doctors said. To both his ulna and radius. They had predicted six to eight weeks healing time. The break just happened to be in an area that was concentrated by nerves so Bucky’s pain and been more than the norm, a reason why he’s knocked out by pain meds now. His crying alone was enough to wear him out and before they had left the hospital wing, Bucky had pressed his cheek against Steve’s shoulder, closed his eyes, and effectively crashed out. 

But looking down at him now, seeing that cast and how his eyes are still puffy from his cries… 

Steve tears his eyes away and looks to the door where Winnie and Becca are huddled, both watching him and shooting concerned glances toward Bucky. One look at them and Steve finally feels his patience snap. 

The change is instant. Steve marches from the bed and he grabs Becca’s arm, pulling her down the hall. 

“Commander,” Winnie gasps, trying to reach for him and then Becca, but he pushes her outstretched hand to the side. “ _ Please _ . Please don’t hurt her! She’s just a child!”

Steve turns on her, glaring. “So is he. And look at him!” 

Winnie’s mouth snaps shut and her face crumbles as she looks at them, her eyes flickering between them. She looks absolutely helpless and it only infuriated him more. He waited until they were in the sitting area before he spun Becca around, his hand tight around her upper arm. It was then that he realizes she’s crying. 

The tears in her hazel gaze mean  _ nothing  _ to him, not when the visual of bright blue watery eyes is still so fresh in his mind. 

It makes his grip tighten because she has no reason to be crying. “ _ Stop crying _ ,” he orders. “You’re not the one hurt, are you!?” 

Becca shakes her head frantically. “N-No--”

“Your  _ brother  _ is, Rebecca! He broke his arm today and it’s  _ your  _ fault!” He wants to yell. He wants to fucking lose it, but Bucky’s just down the hall and the door is cracked open and Steve wouldn’t dare waking him up. 

“Commander!”

He turns his head towards Winnie, silencing her with a glare. “Get  _ out _ .” She’s trembling and her arms are wrapped around her middle, but she makes no move nor says another word.

“You’re supposed to take care of your brother,” he turns back to Becca. “He’s  _ five _ . I have told you over and over that when I’m not there, you are in charge of him. Not the guards. Not her,” he extends his arm to point at Winnie before doing the same to her. “ _ You _ .” 

Becca nods her head. She’s trying to hold it in but her body wracks in on itself. She’s hiccuping and Steve doesn’t want to hear any of it. He just wants to go back into his room and feel Bucky against him, to know his son is okay. He needs to be there with  _ Bucky _ , not this foolish girl who can’t do anything right. 

“Do you understand what I am telling you?” he asks. 

“Ye-yes, dad.” 

“Excuse me?”

“Y-Yes Commander.” 

Steve finally releases her. Her arm drops uselessly at her side and he turns away, heading straight for his room. As he passes by Winnie, he shoves her roughly to the side. He hears her rush towards Becca but he can’t find the energy to care. 

* * *

As a seven year old, Bucky knows the rules. He’s lived long enough that he understands the expectations that Steve has implemented; what to do and what not to do, what Steve wants and what Steve doesn’t want. 

At seven years old, Bucky is entirely and completely daddy’s little boy. He clings to Steve’s every word, shadows his movement, his eyes always wide and absorbing everything Steve does. Bucky knows his father just as much as Steve knows his son. 

So when Steve settles them into bed, and sees that troubled look on his son’s face-- the slight dip of his brown brows, how he bites on his lips, the way his fingers pick at the buttons of his pajama top-- Steve’s instantly leaning close. “What’s the matter?” 

Silence is a rarity with Bucky. Usually it takes work getting him to settle down, and if anyone else beside Steve tries to do it, it just won’t happen. Winnie had the audacity to try and enforce discipline but Steve had shut that down long ago because no one, not a  _ single  _ person in existence, was going to try and take ownership of his son. 

Instead of pressuring Bucky to talk, Steve gives him his time. He’s waiting, watching as Bucky still fumbles. Bucky’s eyes are steadily avoiding Steve’s so Steve reaches out and slides his fingers through Bucky’s hair, massaging his skull. He’s coaxing Bucky into him, slowly tearing down that wall of apprehension that his son has up. 

It doesn’t take long. It never does with Bucky. He leans into Steve’s side, his head pressing into Steve’s ribs. “I… I don’t wanna do the surprise.” 

Steve frowns. He definitely doesn’t know about any surprise and considering who he is, any surprise should have been ran through him first. There definitely shouldn’t be anything that Bucky finds out  _ before  _ Steve. 

“What surprise?” 

Bucky goes silent again but not before his eyes widen, like he’s revealed something he wasn’t supposed to. The warning bells immediately start blaring. 

“Bucky,” he presses now. “Talk to me, sweetheart.” 

He’s biting the insides of his cheeks, Steve can tell. Which means… whatever he’s holding back, he knows Steve isn’t going to like. Just as Steve is about to force it out, Bucky finally breaks his silence. 

“I don’t wanna leave you, Daddy.” His voice is soft, just above a whisper, and it’s so fragile that Steve’s instantly grabbing him and pulling him close because his son needs the comfort. It’s once Bucky’s pressed fully against his chest that his words actually hit Steve. 

And they hit  _ hard _ . 

Steve’s face hardens. His jaw clenches and his hands spasm against his son back, the need to hold him close being stronger than ever. 

“Why would you say that?” This time, his tone is hard. He’s not taking this lightly anymore, not when Bucky has said those words. 

It must scare Bucky though, because he clams up again. He tries to pull away and he leans to the side as if he’s trying to get back under the covers, but Steve is persistent. “ _ Bucky _ ,” he warns. His son instantly stills. It’s rare that he ever uses his Alpha voice on his son, but in a time like this, it’s what needs to be done. “Tell me why you said that.” 

“Nanny…” Bucky starts, his face nothing but pure innocence in Steve’s eyes. “Nanny said it’s a surprise.” 

“I don’t want a surprise.” 

Bucky’s little head nods. He tries to look down but Steve’s hand catches his chin and forces it to stay up. For a long moment, they just stare at one another. 

Until, “Nanny said we’re gonna go away for the trip. Me and Becca and her. She said you can’t come because work but-- but I want you to go, Daddy. You gotta come too,” his eyes go wide and he’s nodding his head like he’s trying to persuade the both of them. “You gotta come, Daddy, because imma miss you. A lot, lot, lot.” 

Steve hasn’t stopped staring at his son. He’s… stunned. But then his brain kicks in and he’s flying from the bed, throwing the sheets off of himself and storming to his dresser to pull the gun from his holster. 

“Daddy?” 

Steve turns to look over his shoulder. His eyes linger on his son buried in the mountain of blankets. Bucky looks so small in the middle of the large bed, looking more vulnerable than ever. And Winnie tried to take him… she tried--

“Don’t come out of this room. No matter what. Do you understand, Bucky?” 

Bucky’s head jerks up and down. “Yes, Daddy.” 

When Steve leaves the room, he pulls the door all the way shut behind him. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow this Porn Without Plot expanded into a full on story and there hasn't been a hint of sex yet! Yeesh.

The thump itself is enough to grab Steve’s attention, but it’s when the cry reaches his ears that he’s rising up from the couch and flying down the hall. His senses hone in on the scent of his son, sweet and honey-like and pure, and it’s the distress that lingers underneath that sends Steve’s pulse escalating. 

He storms into the playroom and expects that Bucky somehow fell and injured himself, because as a seven year old, while Bucky has some control over his body, he’s still too clumsy and uncoordinated in the majority of his motions. Falls are almost natural for his son, and even though Steve’s put in the extra care of fortifying the house as much as he can, band-aids and scabbed knees and the odd bruise here and there are no shock to be seen on Bucky’s body. 

What  _ is  _ a shock to see, however, is Bucky on the floor and his sister towering over him. Becca’s hands are covering Bucky’s mouth trying to muffle his cries, but she’s overestimating the size of her hands against his face and her fingers are pressing against his nose too, cutting off his entire air supply. Bucky’s thrashing against her but she’s older, stronger, and biologically superior to him. 

“ _ Ssh _ !” she hisses. 

Steve’s on her in a heartbeat. His hand wraps around her upper arm and rips her off. Bucky goes scrambling backward and his chest is heaving up and down, his cheeks shiny with tears. Steve doesn’t need to ask a thing because a second later, Bucky is pointing at his sister. “She p-pushed me! She hurt me, Daddy!” 

Becca’s head rapidly moves from side to side, denying the allegations. “I did not! He’s lying!” 

“She said it’s my fault Nanny’s gone! She said I made her go to sleep!” 

“Because it  _ is  _ your fault!” Becca screeches. Now, there are tears in her eyes too. “It’s all your fault, Bucky! You told the secret and now she’s dead! Because of you!” 

Bucky’s eyes flicker to Steve and it’s the absolute confusion that snaps Steve into action. His son doesn’t understand death. Steve doesn’t  _ let  _ him, not yet, at least. Becca, however, is ten and she’s been exposed to things that Bucky never will. She understands that sometimes, when eyes close shut, they don’t always reopen. 

When she witnessed Winnie get shoved to her knees, the barrel of Steve’s gun pressed into her temple, then the loud pop of gunfire, maybe the blood seeping from her mother’s body was what solidified death in her mind. Or maybe it was watching the body turn stiff, cold and blue. Steve would never know. He didn’t care, either. 

But that was four months ago, and since then, it’s been  _ this  _ nonstop. Becca versus Bucky; yelling and crying, punishments and comforts. It’s days with Becca locked away in her room, while he’s left to kiss Bucky’s hurts away, holding his son in his arms and reassuring him that his sister is just troubled. It’s mornings when he has to call for a guard to come pick up the girl and take her to Alpha classes just to get her off of their floor even though she’s still three years too young to be properly inducted into the class, all while Bucky stays curled up on the couch, watching Becca get taken away. When the front door closes behind her, it’s like Bucky can breathe easily, the discomfort melting away from him as Steve joins him and they get to spend the rest of the day together with no interruptions. Just as it should be. Just Bucky and Steve. 

“Nanny is a bad lady,” Bucky said, capturing Steve’s attention. His blue eyes are trained on his sister now, and he looks so sure of himself, bold and confident. “She tried to take us away from home. She deserves to go to sleep. Right, Daddy?” 

He’s reciting the words Steve told him months ago, the words he says almost on a weekly basis when this same fight pops up and has to separate them. It’s the first time that Steve has ever heard Bucky talk back though, and it sends a wave of pride washing through him because Winnie had deserved everything she got. 

“Right, sweetheart.” 

Becca makes a noise of distress in the back of her throat and she shakes her head again, trying to pull out of Steve’s grasp. Steve obliges and she goes tumbling to the floor with a thud. The tears finally start to leak from her hazel eyes, sliding down her cheeks. 

Steve points toward the door, barking out his order, “Go to your room.  _ Now _ , Rebecca.” He doesn’t watch her scamper away but he can hear her soft hiccups as she disappears down the hall. 

Squatting, Steve gathers Bucky in his arms. Bucky burrows his head into the junction of Steve’s neck and shoulder, and his little arms wrap around Steve’s neck, holding on tight. 

“She’s bad too,” Bucky whispers into Steve’s ear. “Just like Nanny.” 

Steve kisses Bucky’s forehead, inhaling heavily as his son’s scent seeps into him. “I know, baby. We just gotta fix that, don’t we?”

* * *

“I don’t want to do this anymore!” Becca cries, reaching up to wipe the tears out of her eyes. Her cheeks are flushed red from exertion, her brown hair tied back in a sloppy ponytail but sweat-soaked strands hanging free around her face. Steve looks on at her, not fazed in the slightest bit. The blank expression on his face must frustrate her even more because she slams her fist into the mat. “Commander,  _ please _ !”

Please? How many times has Bucky said that word to his sister, asking for her to be nice, or to leave him alone, or to stop being bad when Steve sets the rules and she continues to break them. Does she listen to her brother?  _ No _ . 

He regards her for a second, before flicking his gaze to the awaiting soldier. “Again,” he orders. 

The soldier nods his head sharply and reaches down to grab Becca by the nape of her neck, forcefully pulling her onto her feet. They get into position and when Steve nods again, they both launch forward at each other. 

An eleven year old child is no match for a full grown Alpha. Naturally, seconds once the match starts, Becca once again gets slammed onto the mat. 

She wants to fight with her brother? Then she can fight with others. She wants to bully someone smaller and younger than her? Then she will face those that are both older and stronger than her too. 

A cry of frustration leaves Becca’s lips but when Steve commands, “Again,” once more, this time she picks herself up and gets into position, staring ahead at the soldier who fights against her. There are tears streaming down her cheeks, making them glisten in the bright light of the training room. This time, when she gets thrown onto her back, her head bounces against the mat and a pitiful sob gets retched from throat. 

He ignores it all. “Again,” he orders, and they fall into place. 

* * *

“If we strike against the base on the Western border, we’ll triple their forces easily,” Sam says, pointing his finger down at the map laid out in front of them. “We’d lessen the casualties if we attacked at night.”

Steve nods, accepting the words. It’s the most straightforward method and most importantly, it has a minimal-to-none casualty rate for their side. “We’ll air strike them at 0300 hours. Burn them out from the inside them shoot the ones that survive the blast when they come running out. We cover each of the six exits and shoot everything on site. No prisoners.” 

“And if there are families? The omegas? The children?” Sam asks. “They could be valuable with the right education.” 

Valuable, but at what cost? The chance of a rebellion was too great if outsiders were brought in. Then what could happen? An infestation. A nation overrun by parasites. 

“No,” Steve says. “Kill on site for anything that moves. When they’re all dead, we blow up the rest of the base. I want it burnt to the ground by sunrise. Issue the--” 

Suddenly, Steve’s office doors are bursting open. Years ago, anyone walking through that door would be shot dead instantly, but now, there is only one person who can get past the guards untouched and far enough that they can run unannounced into Steve’s office. 

Bucky runs in like the ball of energy he is. The Academy has just let out, so Bucky’s dressed in his school uniform, his white collar peeking out beneath his navy blue pullover, and just as Steve smiles to greet him, he halts. 

Because Bucky isn’t alone. Not a second behind is young Wade Wilson. The two of them are awfully close in proximity and the reason for that, is because they’re holding hands. Their little fingers are interlocked, their palms pressed flat against one another. 

Steve’s spine goes ramrod straight at the sight. He feels, more than sees, Sam’s eyes shoot to him. Because while that is  _ Steve’s  _ son, the other boy is Sam’s. Wade Wilson is Sam and Riley’s only child, born two years before Bucky. And while Wade is no stranger, given the fact that him and Bucky have had numerous monitored play dates,  _ this  _ certainly hasn’t happened before. Otherwise Steve would have shut it down immediately. 

Because unlike Bucky, Wade was an  _ Alpha _ . Although he was young, biology still ran wild and rampant when the rare smell of an omega came into play, making their Alpha-brains turn to mush. Which made the hand holding thing more than enough to put Steve on edge. Sam, too. 

“Daddy!” Bucky says, laughing and smiling as he drags Wade further into the room. While Wade may be familiar with Steve, the power of authority is still a large discomfort on his young face and his eyes dart to his father cautiously. Steve’s own gaze can’t be torn away from where the two of them are touching but Bucky’s voice and his words certainly capture his attention because he rushes up to Steve, that beautiful face looking up at him and he says, “Daddy! We’re gonna get married!”

The air gets stripped from the room entirely. Off to his side, he hears Sam suck in a sharp breath through his teeth. It’s safe to say that the both of them are frozen solid in shock. 

“Wade said he wants me to be his mate!” Bucky continues on, entirely oblivious to how Steve’s blood starts rushing in his ears, his pulse thrumming in the need to wrap his arms around his boy and pull him away from his friend. To mark him.  _ Claim  _ him. 

To make it even worse, Wade nods his head excitedly. “Yeah, you said I get to pick,” he says toward his father before looking at Bucky, smiling, “so I pick Bucky.” 

Both of the boys start to laugh and they smile at one another again and something  _ roars  _ inside of Steve’s chest. He balls his hands into fists and presses them on top of the table, leaning forward slightly. The urge to rip Sam’s child in half is so, so  _ strong _ , and while Steve would never harm the child of his loyal followers, his hands tremble to do just that. This insolent boy has no  _ idea  _ of the danger he’s in. 

But Sam is. 

Steve is more than aware that Sam is watching his every move. “That’s--” He could say a lot of things-- that’s  _ wrong _ , that’s _ never going to happen,  _ that’s  _ something I’ll fight every last person on this godforsaken earth to prevent _ . But he chokes those back just as he chokes away his fury that demands to be unleashed. 

“That’s nice sweetheart,” he says, smiling so tight that it feels like his face is seconds away from shattering. His teeth grind together and his eyes flicker toward Sam, giving the silent command that he knows Sam will understand, just as he holds out his own hand to call forth his son. If Bucky were to ignore it, Steve doesn’t know what he’d do. Just thinking of that possibility makes him-- 

But he doesn’t have to worry. Because as soon as his arm stretches toward Bucky, Bucky goes rushing up to him, forgetting all about his so called friend. Once Steve’s arms wrap around his little frame and pull Bucky flush against him, the primalness that growls inside of him calms tremendously at the touch. As Bucky’s own arms wrap around Steve’s waist, Steve lowers his head and presses his nose into Bucky’s hair, breathing in deep. Bucky’s sweet smell permeates into his soul and Steve’s fingers clench hard at Bucky’s soft, warm flesh, anchoring himself. 

Steve picks his head up and his blue eyes flash at the other man in the room. Sam lowers his chin, bowing dutifully, before he wraps his hand around Wade’s shoulder and bids them toward the door. 

“Alright, let’s go start your homework,” Sam says to Wade, pretending everything is okay, like Wade’s very own life isn’t in jeopardy here. 

Steve thinks that this moment is over and done with, and that he doesn’t have anything else to worry about, but then Wade turns to look over his shoulder as he gets dragged to the thick doors. His brown eyes seem to shine as they lock on Bucky. 

“Bye Bucky,” he says, waving his hand. 

Bucky waves back, saying bye as well, but Steve quickly recaptures his hand and pulls it back around his waist. Where it belongs. 

The relaxed look fades from Wade’s face as he meets Steve’s own eyes. The young Alpha must sense the threat.  _ Good _ , Steve’s hindbrain thrums. 

“Goodbye Commander,” Wade says formally then, tucking his chin down in respect. Even though Steve had no intention of saying anything in return, Sam is pulling his son through the door before another word can be exchanged.

Wade may vanish behind it, but before Sam can, Steve calls out his name. The other man halts in the doorframe and his gaze seeks out Steve’s obediently. “Fix the problem before I do,” Steve orders. 

With a sharp nod, Sam answers, “Yes, sir.” 

__________

Later that night, Bucky’s brushing his teeth in the bathroom as Steve stands behind him and towel dries his hair. His brown locks are long now, curving past his jaw, no longer the short length that he had all throughout his earlier years. 

He’s maturing, is what he’s doing. He has his preferences; how he likes to look, how he wants to dress, what he does or doesn’t want to do. Even though he’s only ten years old, Bucky likes to think he’s an adult all on his own, never mind how he can’t wander down the hall if the lights aren’t on and refuses to eat the crust off his sandwiches.

But now, looking at him through the mirror, Steve can see how he’s changing. Day by day, it feels like. How is it possible that so much time has passed already? It feels just like yesterday when he brought Bucky home for the first time, making sure everything was absolutely perfect for his newborn. Then slowly, he watched his son grow. Limbs stretched, teeth fell out then grew back in, words and intelligence expanded-- it was a masterpiece that Steve had gotten to watch from the very beginning, something he had never imagined he would get to. Having it now, Steve can’t fathom how he survived without it for so long. He knows with every fiber of his being, that if Bucky were to ever be taken from him, somehow ripped away from Steve’s side, he’d die. Without Bucky, there was no  _ him _ . 

He doesn’t realize that he’s been staring until Bucky’s talking around a mouthful of toothpaste, saying that he’s done, even though it’s nothing but a garbled mess. Bucky leans forward to spit and Steve’s hands trail down his spine, feeling the notches in his spine. His hands don’t leave until they move into the bedroom, where Bucky runs and jumps into their bed. 

Normally, Steve would be jumping in right behind him but his mind is still too unsettled by the events from earlier. Everytime he looks at his son, all he can see is Wade’s hands all over him. Touching what belongs to Steve. The promise of marriage still echoes in his skull, over and over, driving a knife straight through his heart every time. He still sees the smile that Bucky had given the other boy, much too similar to the ones that he gives to Steve. 

So he doesn’t get into bed. Instead, he walks to the edge and pulls at Bucky’s ankles. “Baby, sit up, please. I need to talk to you.” 

Bucky scrambles to do just that and he sits criss-cross, blue eyes wide as he looks up at Steve. “About what?”

“It’s about earlier. When you and Wade came into my office from school. You remember what you said?”

Bucky’s eyebrows crunch together for a moment in confusion, thinking it over. “About getting married? Wade said Uncle Sam said it’ll be soon that he gets to choose his mate. So Wade said he’d pick me. And we’ll get married.” 

Steve nods slowly. “That’s what you said, yes, but do you know what that means?”

“A mate?” Bucky tilts his head to the side. His face scrunches up again. “It means he’ll be my bestest friend. I get to stay with him when we get bigger.” 

Inside his chest, Steve’s heart clenches painfully at that possibility. “Kinda,” he nods, before sitting down in front of his son, their knees pressing together. He takes hold of Bucky’s hands and pulls them into his lap. “A mate is the person that you’ll love more than anything in the world. You’d do everything for them. They’re the most important thing to you and without them, you would die. Do you understand what I’m saying, baby?” Slowly, Bucky nods, and Steve reaches up to cup his smooth cheek, using his thumb to rub against his cheekbone. “I know Wade is your friend but… but you aren’t gonna marry him, okay?” 

For a long moment, he watches his son’s face. It’s the face of childish bliss, and while Bucky may try to understand, there is no possible way that he actually can. Things like mates and marriages are complex even for grown adults and to dump it on a ten year old… it’s probably too much and Steev starts mentally backtracking, hoping he can--

“That’s okay,” Bucky says, shrugging. “Wade can still be my friend though. Right, Daddy?”

Steve fumbles for a second. He hadn’t been expecting that from his son. No, what he had expected was answers demanding why, or at worst, a tantrum, with Bucky kicking and screaming in outrage. Steve’s mouth opens then closes, picking his words carefully. “Well… he can be a friend but he can’t be anything more.” 

“Then who’s my mate, Daddy?” Identical blue eyes stare up at Steve, expectantly and waiting. 

They haven’t had this talk. Truthfully, Steve has been prolonging it for as long as he could just because he wanted to address it when action could be taken. He wanted to tell Bucky all about heats and knots and marking when they could do it together. He didn’t want to explain it to Bucky then wait years until his words could be acted upon. But now, he’s not being given the luxury of waiting because he’s not going to deny his son anything. 

Steve shifts and moves to press his back against the headboard, dragging Bucky along with him. He nestles Bucky between his legs, Bucky’s back to his chest, and his hand sweeps across his boy’s forehead, easing Bucky’s head back to rest against his collarbone. His other hand grabs the comforter and pulls it up around them before sliding his fingers in Bucky’s hair. 

“Before you were born, there was only one thing I ever wanted in life. I wanted someone who I could love,” Steve says. His fingers keep carding through Bucky’s hair, softly scraping against his son’s scalp. “Someone who I could claim as my own mate.” 

Without moving away, Bucky tilts his chin to look up at him. His brows furrow once again. “But Daddy…” he whispers. “... what about me? If you get a mate, that means you’ll love them more than me. Does that mean you won’t love me anymore?” By the time Bucky finishes, his voice is wobbly, and the promise of tears shines bright in his eyes. 

Even if Bucky doesn’t understand the dynamics of what their biology entails, he must sense it already. Without being told, Bucky must have some subconscious understanding that his mate is sitting in that bed right with him, holding him, speaking to him, giving him undivided attention. So of course the thought of Steve having another mate is as devastating as it shows on Bucky’s young face. The omega in Bucky’s soul yearns to stay with its Alpha. 

Just as Steve’s Alpha refuses to leave his omega. 

Steve shakes his head as he reaches down and maneuvers Bucky around in his lap. He situates Bucky’s legs over his thighs, making them face to face, before he drags Bucky’s hips forward. “I could never love anyone more than you, baby boy,” he says, tone firm and strong so that Bucky can’t believe anything else. “You are my whole world. Without you, there would be no me.” 

“But… you have to love your omega more. You'll want them more than me," Bucky finishes so softly that Steve's ears have to strain to hear the hushed words. On his lap, he can feel Bucky trembling, so close to shedding those tears. 

With a shake of his head, he holds Bucky's gaze, not looking away. "Sweetheart,  _ you  _ are my mate,” he smiles, cupping Bucky’s cheeks with his palms before his lips follow after, pecking short and sweet on both sides. “I will always choose you before everyone and everything. I will always love you.  _ Always _ , baby. More than anyone.”

Bucky's face transforms then. The sight is so beautiful that Steve fears _he_ may cry. Because Bucky was born for this, for Steve's love, to become Steve's everything. Bucky was brought into this world to be his whole world and he deserves to know that. His son should know that no one will ever come between them. Steve would have to be torn to shreds before someone took Bucky away.  And now, with their truth laid out between them, he watches as the understanding slowly sinks in for his son. 

"I'm your mate?" Bucky echoes. The smile on his face is breathtaking and Steve's body shivers in delight as Bucky squirms in his lap, his excitement and happiness almost overwhelming for his young mind. "That means... that means we'll get married! We'll get to stay together forever, right, Daddy?" 

"Right, sweetheart." Just as he answers, however, he can see the questions start brewing in his son's mind. Always so curious-- the need for understanding is insatiable for his son. It's times like this when he realizes just how young Bucky is, yet also how mature he wishes he was. 

"But..." Bucky's mouth turns down at the corners. "Why aren't we mates now?" 

Steve shakes his head. His thumbs lower and trace the outline of Bucky's lips. Small, plump, pink lips that make Steve's pupils sharpen into pin points. Those are lips that he'll claim one day, fully. He and Bucky may kiss on the lips as they always have done, but it's been nothing but a gesture of a parent to their child. One day... he'll lick his way into his son's mouth, claiming him inside and out. Fully and completely. _Oh_ how incredible it will be.

But that's for the future. 

"You're still too young," Steve explains. "Your body has to be ready when we mate, otherwise I can hurt you and you know I would never want that."

"How will you hurt me?" Bucky shoots back.

"Because we'll do special things together. Private things that you won't _ever_ do with anyone else," Steve says, putting emphasis on his words without meaning to. He blames it entirely on the threat of Wade from earlier. "Things that Alphas only do with their Omegas."

Bucky shifts forward and lets his little hands rest on Steve's shoulders. The touch instantly has Steve breathing in deep, feeling the sensation pulse through him. Bucky's fingers drum against him, his head tilted to the side still as he asks, "What kinda things?"

Glorious things. Wonderful, intoxicating things that will leave them having the need of getting more and more until the day they die. Things that Steve will spend hours teaching his son, then spend hours fulfilling both of their needs. During the darkest hours of the night, and the earliest moments of the morning when the sun starts to rise. When he sinks his teeth into Bucky's mating glands, then has Bucky do the same to him-- when their scents will match and tell the world that they belong to each other. How he'll press so gently into Bucky that first time, watching in awe as his son opens and stretches around his cock, how Bucky's insides will be filled with Steve's seed. It will be heaven, uncontrollably so. 

Steve's hands pull Bucky's face to him and he places a soft kiss against his son's lips. "We'll make love," Steve whispers against Bucky's lips. "You'll take my knot for the first time and we'll get to become one."

Without pulling away, Bucky's eyes look into Steve's, wide and open,so entrusting as always. “But I already love you, Daddy. More than anyone.” 

"And I love you." Steve's fingers curl into brown hair. He looks into his own eyes inherited by his son. “But we have to wait, baby boy. You're too young."

“Then when?” 

“Soon," Steve answers. It's the truth because it'll only be a few more years until Bucky hits his first heat. And while most parents would start putting their children on suppressants, Steve doesn't plan on doing such a thing. His son will live an organic life where his heats will run free, because Steve will be there from the very beginning, ready to sate his son's needs. Unlike the majority of the omega's in the world, Bucky will have nothing to fear here, given that the entire floor is prepared with built in scent blockers ready to be enabled as soon as Bucky's first heat consumes him. While that moment is still years away, this moment isn't and Steve's breath catches as Bucky smiles again. 

As quick as a flash, Bucky leans in and presses his lips against Steve's once again, before he pulls away and burrows himself into Steve's chest.  It’s more than an instinct now that Steve’s arms move around him fully, caging Bucky in against him. He rests his cheek against the top of Bucky’s head and smiles softly as he hears Bucky's whisper, "Soon, Daddy."

Steve replays the word over and over, letting himself bask in the promise. _Soon._ Then, they will finally, finally be one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, next chapter will have some of Bucky's POV and will also start to have explicit material.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is twelve in this chapter. Steve is thirty-nine. I previously wanted to have an extra scene in this at the end of the chapter but I decided against it because it was really pulling at my moral scale due to Bucky's age... but I didn't scratch it and have decided to put it in the next chapter when Bucky will be slightly a bit older. 
> 
> This chapter has major plot developments with only a smudge of Bucky/Steve. But still, head the tags!

“Hey, Bucky, we forgot to set the temperature of the oven. Can you set it to 350, please?”

Bucky pauses. The whisk in his hand hovers in the air and he watches as the white batter drips into the bowl beneath. He has half the mind to lick it, like how his Daddy lets him sometimes, but he doesn’t because he wants to make this cake and he wants it to be absolutely  _ perfect _ . Otherwise, he wouldn’t have asked for help and wouldn’t have gone through all of the trouble in finding said help. 

Uncle Riley had been pleased to be asked, thankfully, because it’s not like Becca could have gotten out of lessons.  _ And _ , it’s not like he’s allowed to be alone with anyone else. 

He tears his eyes away from the dripping batter and looks toward his Uncle, blinking. “Daddy doesn’t let me use the stove… so you gotta do it.” He goes back to mixing, not paying attention as Riley fiddles with the appliance. Instead, his thoughts go to his Daddy and he smiles. 

It’s his birthday today and on the counter lays a package of candles, long and slim, but he’ll have to count thirty-nine of them before he decorates the cake later. What he’s doing now is  _ supposed  _ to be a secret but he had to go through his Daddy to get permission for Uncle Riley to come into their home and he can hear the soft sound of the camera in the corner constantly moving, so  _ someone  _ is watching. It’s just a matter of who. 

Ten minutes later, the cake is in the oven. Bucky’s sitting at the counter, eating the lunch that Riley prepared, while Riley busies himself with cleaning the mess up. It’s silent until, “So what are you gonna give the Commander for his birthday?” Riley asks. 

Bucky swallows the bite in his mouth. “Myself,” he answers immediately. “My Daddy wants me more than anything.” Afterall, there’s not a day that goes by that his Daddy doesn’t tell him such. Or a night when his Daddy doesn’t hold him in thick, strong arms, whispering words of love and affection right in his ear. His Daddy  _ loves  _ him. More than anything. 

That’s why they’re  _ mates _ . 

Riley’s head tilts to the side and his mouth shifts like he’s biting the inside of his cheek. Bucky thinks he’s gonna say something but instead, Riley just nods his head, slowly. It’s a relief, really, because sometimes questions can be tricky to answer. His Daddy likes to make sure private things stay private and sometimes, Bucky can forget just how much he can say. 

So instead of being asked the questions, he likes to  _ ask  _ them instead. 

“How old were you when you were mated?” 

The question is almost  _ too  _ out there, given the way Riley jolts back. His mouth pops open, perhaps in shock, and he turns around messing with things that don’t need to be messed with. “Um… I’m not sure I’m supposed to answer that.” 

Bucky almost huffs. 

_ Almost _ . 

Because no one is ever allowed to tell him things. Every time he asks a question, it’s met with silence or that strained, pained grimace before they awkwardly shuffle out of Bucky’s immediate area. And why? Because, as Bucky has learned over the years, his Daddy is important. He doesn’t really get the logistics of it all, but he knows that when his Daddy walks into a room, everyone else stands at attention, they salute and bow and jump at his Daddy’s every word. Bucky also knows that whenever he wants something, he gets it because otherwise people get in trouble.  _ Trouble _ , with a capital ‘T’. 

Which, given how his wants sometimes conflict against his Daddy’s wishes, Bucky’s usually in that frustrating area where his wants are oftentimes shut down. 

He stabs his fork into his food, hearing it clank against the porcelain. “Why not?” he asks. 

“Well first, you’re only twelve,” Uncle Riley says, raising his eyebrows like it’s the most obvious thing. “Second, because mating talk is supposed to happen between mates. And most importantly… I don’t think the Commander would like for me to talk about that with his son.” 

The Commander… that’s what they call his Daddy. The Commander of the Nation. The Highest Alpha above all others. That’s what his teachers have taught him in his own classes. It’s funny really, seeing how others bend to his Daddy’s commands yet, it’s Bucky who can make his Daddy do whatever it is that Bucky wants, whenever he wants it. The High Alpha Commander of the Nation stripped of his power just for him.  _ Only  _ for him.

It’s fascinating. 

“I won’t tell,” he whispers instead, being truthful. It’s just… he doesn’t have anyone else to ask. His Daddy tries to answer all of his questions, but it’s always from a standpoint that Bucky can’t entirely relate to. His Daddy is an Alpha, afterall, one in the highest position possible, and sometimes Bucky just wants… well, he’s not entirely sure. But he knows that having insight from another Omega, one who happens to be on his  _ incredibly  _ short list of approved contacts, could give him the reassurement he thinks he needs. Because he knows what he wants and he knows what he wants to give his Daddy for his birthday. He just doesn’t know  _ how _ . 

But Uncle Riley only shakes his head. “Nice try, Bucky.” 

“I promise!”

Riley turns and looks at him. He takes a deep breath and Bucky feels his hope rise up, thinking he’s  _ finally  _ gonna get to ask his endless supply of questions. Instead, Riley’s lips move and he asks, “Do you want to use vanilla or chocolate frosting for the cake?” 

This time, Bucky huffs. Because  _ of course _ . He stabs at his plate again and shoves another bite into his mouth. His Daddy would hate it, but Bucky answers around a mouthful of food. “Daddy likes strawberry the best.” 

“Strawberry it is, then.”

* * *

It’s after the candles are blown out and they’ve both eaten slices of cake, that Bucky finds himself plastered against his Daddy. He’s in his lap, sitting atop strong, hard thighs, and his hands are placed on both sides of his Daddy’s face, holding him close. He’s also pressing his lips against his Daddy’s cheek, moving down the hard slope of his jaw, then the other side, then his other cheek, before finding his Daddy’s lips. 

He giggles as the hairs of his Daddy’s beard tickles against his mouth and his Daddy laughs too, a sound that rumbles in his chest and vibrates into Bucky. “Happy birthday,” he whispers as he tucks his head down and brushes his nose into the hollow of his Daddy’s throat, where the smell of him slowly seeps into Bucky. It’s the best smell. Like their bed but also the smell of the tall trees surrounding the Capitol, and warm like the fireplace that burns in the room. It’s uniquely his Daddy and it never fails to comfort him, making him want to snuggle as far into it as possible. And he does. Bucky wraps his arms around his Daddy’s neck, pulling them flush together. 

Strong arms circle around his back. “Thank you, honey,” his Daddy’s voice is deep and strong, and Bucky smiles against him, taking another deep breath. He lets his lips linger against the hollow of his Daddy’s throat but he opens his mouth and licks against him when a hand moves into his hair and cups his skull. His Daddy’s fingers scratch into his scalp and it feels so good that his eyelids flutter and his breath turns hollow. 

“Daddy…” he pants. That burning inside of him is there again, the one that begs for something more that he can’t describe. It feels like an ache. Something that scratches at his stomach and makes his toes tingly. But he doesn’t know what it is or what he’s supposed to do because of it. All he knows is that whenever his Daddy is near, the ache feels heavier, stronger, and it leaves him grasping at any of his Daddy’s warm skin that he can get ahold of. It makes him take deep breaths, sucking in his Daddy’s scent. But the void still remains, nagging at him. 

It has to be the mating thing. He’s been told over and over that he’s too young, only twelve, but just a few weeks ago Dr. Banner had explained he was subjected to early mating tendencies due to his lifelong close proximity to his Alpha, his Daddy. Bucky didn’t really understand it then, and he still doesn’t, but his Daddy had promised everything was fine and that he was healthy and that was all that mattered. But somehow he knew his body was telling him that he needed more. It didn’t matter that Dr. Banner predicted his first heat would hit him somewhere near the age of fourteen. 

What mattered was  _ now _ . 

Bucky pulls himself back up, meeting blue eyes. “Daddy… I want more. Please,” he whispers, hearing the whine in his voice. 

He’s not stupid. He recognized a while back how his Daddy’s eyes sharpen at that tone, how strong, thick fingers clench tighter around his waist when Bucky lets his voice go all high pitch and needy, how his Daddy will drop anything and everything just to pull Bucky against him in the flash of a second. It’s never failed him before and he doubts that it ever will. 

So when there’s a look that crosses his Daddy’s face, like he’s thinking over something important, Bucky can’t help but smile. Eyes scour over his face. Bucky shudders as a palm drifts down his spine and rests against the small of his back. 

“Tell me what you want,” his Daddy says. “Talk to me, baby.” 

“I…” Bucky darts his tongue out to lick at his lips. What does he want? What does he  _ need _ ? He can’t name it, can’t describe it, but he knows-- and it becomes crystal clear. His hands move and press against his Daddy’s face. Slowly, he leans forward and presses their lips together. The pressure is there only for a second until he pulls back again. “I want my mate,” he whispers. 

The look on his Daddy’s face makes Bucky’s lips part, panting across his Daddy’s face and his Daddy does the same. The silence is heavy between them as they do nothing but stare at one another. Blue on blue; the very same shade reflecting off one another like mirrors. 

Then, one corner of his Daddy’s lips curve upward. Fingers curl into Bucky’s sides again, tighter than before. “Is that what you want? You want me, sweetheart?” 

Wordlessly, Bucky nods his head. 

“Oh honey,” his Daddy says, so softly that it sends shivers down Bucky’s spine, making goosebumps appear. “I need you, too. So much, baby.” His Daddy leans forward and their lips meet again, once, twice, three times, before his Daddy stops and his head tilts to the side. Bucky whimpers at the loss but his Daddy quickly shushes him. “No, no, none of that. I’m just thinking…” 

“About what?” Bucky would certainly like it if there was less thinking and more of  _ more _ . 

His Daddy’s gaze drifts down again and his thumb brushes against the small divot in Bucky’s chin, before moving up and pressing down into Bucky’s bottom lip. “Thinking about trying something new… think you’d like that, sweetheart?” 

Something new? Bucky can’t help but perk up. He feels the rush of anticipation flow through him and he sits up straighter, eyes wide as he meets his Daddy’s gaze. “Yes, yes, please,” he says, squirming in excitement. His mind is already racing at the unknown of possibilities. 

Daddy smiles humorously. “We’re gonna go slow, okay?” 

It sounds like a question but he doesn’t bother answering, instead, he nods his head, ready to get onto the something new. 

“Baby, open your mouth for me.” The thumb pressing into Bucky’s lip tugs down slightly before pushing forward, sitting lightly on top of his teeth. “And close your eyes…”

Bucky listens and then, he finally,  _ finally  _ gets the more that he’s been craving. His Daddy moves forward and it’s a kiss but it’s stronger than anything they’ve ever done before. A noise escapes him when his Daddy’s tongue glides into his mouth and it causes hands to clench even tighter around him. It’s hot and wet, and as his Daddy licks against the roof of his mouth, Bucky can’t help the giggle that slips from his throat. But he doesn’t pull away; he refuses to. Because that’s how much he  _ likes  _ this. 

It’s like magic and he loves it. He moves his own tongue against his Daddy’s and while it’s strange to be able to taste the inside of his Daddy, it’s wonderful, too. The strawberry icing is sweet and makes him push in further to get a better taste. 

Bucky doesn’t know what he’s doing but he tries his best to copy what he feels. When his Daddy’s tongue slides against his, Bucky does the same. He feels the movement against the inside of his cheeks, then his teeth, and he tries his best keep up. His head feels fuzzy but he keeps going, keeps pushing and pulling with everything that he has. 

Until, “You gotta breathe, baby,” his Daddy mumbles against his mouth and Bucky can physically feel every puff of air, every word that gets spoken directly into him. Bucky does as he’s told but it comes out shaky and for a moment he struggles until his Daddy’s hand presses against his chest, forcing him to calm down to greedily suck in air.

For a long moment, all he can hear is the harshness of his breathing. It’s loud compared to the low crackle of the fire. Bucky’s chest is heaving up and down and he tries to focus, but then his Daddy chuckles and Bucky can’t help but do the same. 

His Daddy thumbs against Bucky’s bottom lip again and he smirks as he looks up. “Did you like that?” 

Oh, he liked it very, very much. So much that he can’t find the words to use. Instead, he just hums and leans forward to press their foreheads together, nodding. 

“Wanna do it some more?” his Daddy asks, just as his arms squeeze around Bucky’s waist. 

Bucky raises his eyes and locks onto the ones that mirror his own. He smiles, then tilts his chin to captures his Daddy’s lips, letting his actions speak for themselves. 

They do it again and again until Bucky’s lips tingle with rawness. Until their fingers dig into each other’s skull and their hair turns wild, sticking up in every direction. Until they’re both left panting and his Daddy keeps making them stop to take breaks in between. 

Bucky never knew what he was asking for but this… this all felt right. 

* * *

“And the results?” he asks, hearing his voice echo in the vastness of the room. Steve’s standing in the middle of the white lab, and his imploring gaze is trained on no one but Dr. Banner. 

“The cells have shown an accelerated healing factor,” Dr. Banner explains. “Also, the membrane walls have thickened tremendously from the last batch. We’ve managed to manipulate it enough that it can withstand the force of a standard bullet but rifle calibres are high powered enough to cause ruptures.” As if to prove his point, Dr. Banner pulls up the screens and he points to various components of the sample, trying to explain everything as best he can. 

Steve doesn’t understand any of it, truthfully, but he does trust Dr. Banner’s capabilities. He’s one of the greatest minds in the Nation, so of course Steve appointed him in charge of finalizing the serum. Where Steve excels at raw power and strength, Dr. Banner’s attributes are chemical formulas and manipulation of the elements. He’s a genius, to put it light. 

“Are you saying the serum is complete?” He feels excitement bubble up inside of him, growing stronger the longer Dr. Banner explains but on the outside, he stays poised, his eyes hard. Because if this is it, if the serum is truly ready… everything will change. 

Dr. Banner straightens up and folds his glasses, putting them into his lab pocket. “I’m saying from a scientist perspective, it  _ should  _ work. It would need to be tested before we administered anything directly to you.” 

_ Should  _ is a far stretch from absolute certainty. They will use test subjects, there should be no doubt about that. Steve’s no fool and it doesn’t matter if he trusts Dr. Banner or his abilities because his life comes first. He has things to do and he won’t let a little science experiment gone wrong be the end of him, not when it would leave his son alone and abandoned. Chaos would erupt as every Alpha in the Nation fought for the power, and one unmated, young Omega would have them clawing at each other’s throats just to get a piece. 

Steve clenches down on his jaw and forces his thoughts away. The sidelong glance that Dr. Banner, a Beta, gives him is enough for Steve to hone in on his anger, pulling back on the hormones being emitted.

He nods his head. “I’ll send a few your way.” 

“Those closest to your makeup would be best. However… Commander, it would be wise to select individuals we can operate without… in case of subject failures.” 

Steve doesn’t bother to say that everyone is disposable. No, he keeps his comment to himself even though it itches in his throat. Instead, he nods his head again. “One hour,” Steve instructs. “I’ll gather them up now.” 

He leaves the room already knowing who he’s going to select.

* * *

Their yells echo in Steve’s ears, yet he stands beside Dr. Banner along with a small crowd of other workers in the lab, watching in fascination. The doctors are scribbling away at their clipboards and muttering to each other in words that Steve doesn’t care enough to listen to. 

Rumlow, Rollins, and Blonsky are thrashing against their reinforced restraints-- thick black bands that creak underneath their fighting pressure. Their teeth are clenched harshly into their mouthpieces and their jaws are working hard as they try to choke back their screams. A heady layer of sweat covers each of their skin, making them gleam beneath the bright lab lights. 

It’s been like this for almost half an hour now, and it doesn’t seem like it’ll be stopping at any time soon. Their vitals are through the roof and somehow, miracuously, they’re still alive. Fighting against the toxins running through their blood. Throughout it all, Steve has stayed standing behind the wall of shatterproof glass, attentive with Sam and the other generals at his side. 

When the process started, Dr. Ross had insisted they end it once the first subject had died off. It had been a female Alpha named Jessica Jones, not someone Steve knew much about, but he had watched her heart explode within her own chest and witnessed the blood bleed from her eyes, mouth, and ears. It was a horrific way to go and he could understand the concern Dr. Ross had but he didn’t care. He needed the serum just as badly as he needed the oxygen in his lungs. If they were to stop…  _ No _ , they couldn’t. 

Steve refused to end it and when Dr. Ross had sent that look of desperation toward Dr. Banner, Steve shared a look with Sam until Sam signaled for her to be escorted from the room. 

But eventually, their agony dies away and in its place emerges something incredible.

* * *

He’s… scared. Or at least, Bucky thinks he is. He doesn’t really have a strong grasp on what exactly his feelings are but what he does know, is that he doesn’t feel good. 

It has to be fright, though, because the way his stomach churns and the way he can feel the  _ boom, boom, boom _ in his chest feels too fast to be normal. He keeps thinking of his Daddy, frozen and still, no matter how desperately he calls for him-- of how he’d crawl into his Daddy’s side and beg and cry for him to wake up, how he’d try to shake him awake. But all of his efforts would be useless and his Daddy would continue to lie there, cold and stiff. 

“Oh, baby…” 

Bucky doesn’t realize he’s been crying until he looks up at his Daddy’s voice. His Daddy is standing in front of him, but he’s blurry as he reaches out for Bucky. 

“My sweet boy, please don’t cry. It’s going to be okay.” 

That’s what his Daddy keeps saying. _It’s going to be okay._ _It’ll all be alright._ But if that was the truth, Bucky wouldn’t have had to sit down a few days back and listen as his Daddy explained what was going to happen… and then what Bucky would have to do if anything went wrong. He wouldn’t be allowed to be in the lab when his Daddy would be given the medicine to get stronger. He was supposed to be with Uncle Sam and Uncle Riley waiting in a place that his Daddy didn’t tell him the name of. Because if something bad happened, Bucky was to go with them. No questions asked. No misbehaving. They were gonna take care of him no matter what and it was _going to be okay_. 

But Bucky doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want Uncle Sam or Uncle Riley and he doesn’t want to go somewhere new. He wants his Daddy to be okay and alive, not--

His Daddy’s arm wrap around him. They’re big and strong and warm and instantly, Bucky’s burrowing himself into his Daddy’s chest. He can hear the  _ boom, boom, boom _ of his heart too, telling him that his Daddy is alive and well at this moment. 

But oh how quickly that could change. 

“Why do you have to do it?” he asks, hiccuping. He wipes at the wetness of his eyes but the tears keep coming. Big, strong hands frame against his face and the pads of his Daddy’s thumb replace Bucky’s hands, rubbing. 

“So that I can be here with you. When I get the serum, age won’t be such a bad thing anymore for us. I’ll still be me, how I am now, but I’ll get to be me while your body catches up.”

“But what if--”

“No,” his Daddy shakes his head. “We’re not gonna think about that.” 

Bucky frowns. How can he  _ not  _ think about it? It’s been plaguing his every thought ever since his Daddy told him. And ever since then, it’s felt like there’s been a storm cloud towering over his head, drenching him whole. “But Daddy…” 

“I know it’s scary, Bucky, but everything is in place,” his Daddy leans forward and kisses his forehead. “You don’t need to worry about any of it, okay, baby?” 

It just isn’t that easy. He wishes he had any say in the matter but he doesn’t, and even if he did, he knows how important this is for his Daddy-- for  _ them _ . His Daddy is only doing this to secure their future together and Bucky has to understand that. So he has to suck it up and be a big boy to show them all that he isn’t as young as they deem him to be. 

He’s been given his instructions and now, he has to wait. Tomorrow will come whether he wants it to or not and after tomorrow, his life will change no matter what the outcome is. He will either live with his Daddy, happy and thriving for the day his heat comes and the life after that, or--  _ or  _ he’ll be with Uncle Sam far, far, far from here and that’ll be it. No more home; no more Daddy. Those are his possibilities and there is no in between, no matter how desperately he wishes there was. 

All he can do is settle into his Daddy’s lap when hands pull him forward. He buries his nose in the hollow of his Daddy’s throat, taking a deep breath as it settles in his chest. His fingers dig into the fabric of his Daddy’s shirt and he clutches at him so tightly that his fingers would have to be broken before he ever let go. 

Bucky doesn’t fall asleep anytime soon and neither does his Daddy. Instead, they stay breathing against one another for hours, petting and holding on as if their time is running out.

* * *

Fire fills his veins. It burns and makes him feel like his skin is melting off his bones, taking the ligaments and tendons and muscle along with it. It feels like hell has burned over and he’s been trapped in the flames. It feels like eternity yet it feels as if only a second has passed. 

Steve’s eyes snap open and he grins.

* * *

Rumlow’s skull cracks like an egg between Steve’s hands. The crunch sends a shiver down Steve’s spine and when he lets go, Rumlow’s body drops onto the floor with a heavy thud, joining the other two. 

He’d torn through Blonsky and Rollins as if they were nothing more than untrained Alphas, ones who had been eager to advance with snapping jaws and roars of fury. 

He’d ripped Blonsky nearly in half. Steve had spun the Alpha around, pulled his arm back and gave one violent tug until his skin split and the top of his humerus popped out, a vibrant bulge of white amongst the sputtering dark red. Blonsky had fallen to his knees and Steve’s hands found the sides of his face, before snapping his neck. 

Rollins was a force that Steve was familiar with-- an Alpha who relied entirely on his strength and nothing else. It had taken only one quick calculation of backstepping his first punch and spinning around to grab Rollins by the back of his throat, throwing him down onto the floor, before the heel of Steve’s boot dug into the base of Rollins’ neck. The crunch had Steve grumbling in pleasure. 

It came down to Rumlow, like Steve predicted from the start. Rumlow was a sneaky force who always waited in the back, watching and analyzing, before advancing. Steve had liked the man’s ability when he first watched him years back, but the arrival of his son had certainly put a play of power between the two. Steve wasn’t blind to the lingering stares Rumlow aimed at Bucky, or how when Bucky happened to be near, Rumlow watched his every move, something shiny and predatory in his black eyes. It was that anger that fueled Steve, knowing that if he were to go down, Rumlow would do anything and everything in his power to find Bucky and claim him as his own. 

He knew Rumlow would try to sneak up on him so as soon as Rollins was taken down, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as Rumlow tried to attack from behind. He’d managed to catch Rumlow’s arm mid-air and once he turned, it was over before the primal roar died in Steve’s throat.

The blood covering his hands is warm. He doesn’t even feel winded. It seems that even with the serum, his body was biologically superior to theirs, stronger and more powerful even though they were on the same level, all suped up on a serum that made them the strongest beings on the planet. Now, all that existed was him. 

As he planned from the very beginning.

Steve straightens up and faces the dozen of high ranked officials that surrounded the fighting quarry. He can see and smell the fright that pours from them, can see how some look on in fascination, others in unhidden admiration. He raises his fist into the air and the others join in. 

All but one. 

Becca’s eyes are wide and her face is ashen, pale in the low light of the sun. She’s sitting near the front, close to his appointed generals, but her eyes aren’t on him at all. Instead, she’s taking in the blood bath; the cracked skulls and splatters of brains against the slabs of rock, the violent streaks of blood that seem black now. It’s a scene of power, of  _ domination _ , and in the middle of it all, Steve stands victorious. 

When her eyes eventually meet his, all the remaining color in her face drains away, and slowly, she lifts her fist into the air to join the others. 

“All hail Commander Rogers!” someone yells. 

The agreeing shouts fuel him even further. He feels invincible and for the first time, he truly is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally have the rest of the plot lined out for this story! Super sorry for that really long wait you guys had to deal with!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pinky promise that I will not update or post any other stories until I am done with this one. I love this story so much and I know many of you do too, but it's upsetting me that the update for this has taken a lifetime to happen. 
> 
> Sorry :( BUT! Here's the longest chapter so far!

Bucky

* * *

He hates, hates,  _ hates  _ getting dressed up. 

The collar of his button up is too stiff and constricting and with his suit jacket on top, it’s awfully warm. He already told one of the guards to lower the temperature but it either hasn’t taken effect or the guard was utterly useless. He wasn’t even wearing shorts today, having to put on his god awful trousers instead.  _ And,  _ to make matters even worse, his Converse had been strictly forbidden no matter how many times he had pleaded with his Daddy. Instead, earlier he’d sat there with his arms folded across his chest when his Daddy slipped his feet into the dumb loafers that shined so brightly he could see his face in them when he looked down. 

If he were to look on the bright side-- which was incredibly small, he might add-- it’s that at least his Daddy let him wear his hair free instead of having to slick it back like he and the rest of the guards did. But they all have to look their part and apparently thick uniforms and slicked back hair is imperative in maintaining the image of the Capitol. Otherwise who knows what kind of mayhem and chaos the Nation would fall under, or at least that’s what he’s always been told. 

“How much longer?” he huffs to no one in particular and marches to the nearest window, peeking through the curtains. All he can see is the back of his Daddy and the large balcony where guards and the high officials line up, Uncle Sam too. They all stand with their arms behind their backs, stone faced, while some hold big guns that are out and ready. His Daddy stands in front of them, addressing the massive crowd gathered on the streets beyond the gates. Bucky can’t see the commoners but then again, he’s never seen them. He’s only ever heard their echoes of praise as they shout and roar when his Daddy throws his arm into the air. 

“Shouldn’t be much longer now,” a guard that isn’t important enough to have a name says, stepping up beside him. “But please back away from the curtains. Your father doesn’t want you in the windows, remember?” 

Bucky rolls his eyes. Of course he remembers. He isn’t stupid. 

He turns from the window and lets the curtain fall back into place. When he faces the empty room, he almost jumps at how close he realizes that the guard is standing. He looks at the hand hovering above his shoulder before following the arm up to the guard and glares. No one is allowed to touch him and the man is awfully close,  _ too _ close. He has half the mind to lean into the guard’s palm just to cause a scene and have his Daddy’s attention back on him instead of those stupid people, but he isn’t in the mood for staying here and in these clothes for longer than he absolutely has to. Plus, Uncle Riley is perched on a chair and watching them closely, his green eyes trained on the guard’s outstretched hand even as he flips through his book. "Listen to him," Uncle Riley says.

Bucky crosses his arms and scowls at the guard. "I don't have to listen to anyone," he grumbles but listens anyway. He tears his eyes away and huffs once more before making his way to throw himself down onto the nearest couch. “Why must I come to these ceremonies if I’m not even allowed to be out there. I have to get all dressed up just to be in this room and wait for it to be over.” 

“You know why you are here, Bucky,” Uncle Riley says, finally closing his book to gaze at Bucky across from him. “You are here to support your father. Nothing’s changed. After this is done, we will all go down to the convention center to celebrate another victorious year for the Nation.”

“But why does my Daddy have to address those people if they aren’t important? Why waste the time when we could be doing something else instead. Something  _ fun _ .” 

“Of course they’re important. They’re his supporters.” 

“That’s not what Daddy says,” Bucky grins and flashes a smug look in his uncle’s direction. 

His uncle purses his lips. “Well, no matter, those people follow your father. They respect their Commander and listen to what he says."

“Not all of them," he points out quietly, looking away. That's why he's not allowed out there. His Daddy always reminds him of the awful people that are traitors, like Nanny, who want to take Bucky away and ruin the Nation. All it would take is one move, and Bucky could be gone, his home could be ruined. He would be vulnerable out there and it was a risk his Daddy said he could never take. So he stays inside the Capitol's walls, safe and protected, within his Daddy's reach and eyes at all times. 

Uncle Riley doesn’t comment but he doesn’t have to because suddenly a loud chorus of shouts and yells comes from outside and Bucky turns to look over his shoulder just as the double doors open and his Daddy glides in. Sharp eyes pan around the room in a flash before settling on Bucky. 

Bucky doesn’t jump up to greet him. Instead, he stays rooted on the couch, arms crossed, and petulant as ever as his Daddy regards him with raised brows. He has to tip his head back when his Daddy gets real close, their knees touching. A large hand reaches out and warm fingers cup Bucky’s jaw. 

His Daddy smiles and while Bucky wants to be a pain, maybe give him attitude or snark, he can’t find the will to, not when his Daddy is looking at him like that. 

“Did he mind his manners?” his Daddy asks Riley without tearing his eyes away. 

From somewhere beside them, Riley answers. “Perfect as always.” 

His Daddy looks satisfied and slowly, a smile spreads across Bucky’s face. He feels excitement race through him knowing he’ll be given a reward, and his body shoots up from the couch before he can stop himself. He jumps right into his Daddy’s embrace and hums when thick arms get placed around him,  _ safe and protected _ . He tucks himself into his Daddy’s side just as his Daddy tilts his head down and places a kiss on top of his head. 

“ _ Now _ can I go change?” Bucky asks, looking up and putting just the right amount of whine in his voice so his Daddy can’t miss it. 

“Not just yet, sweetheart.” Bucky starts to stick out his bottom lip in a pout, hoping it’ll break down his Daddy’s resolve, but his Daddy is quick to shake his head and  _ tsk _ . “Be a good boy for the rest of the afternoon or else you won’t get your treat.” 

That sobers him up immediately and he sucks his lip back in before doing his best impression of the shakedown he always watches his Daddy do, when all playfulness gets pushed to the side and it’s time to get serious. Besides, he wants his treat. Bucky tries his best and stands up straight, tips his chin into the air and strides forward in the best impression of his Daddy that he can give. It must be a sorry sight compared to how everyone sees the Commander, but Bucky feels his execution is spot on even though he sees Uncle Riley and Sam grin in the corner of the room. 

“Okay, Daddy,” he whispers, pushing himself as far into the solid side of his father that he can. He sighs in content as a strong arm wraps around his shoulder. 

His Daddy throws a few orders around that Bucky doesn’t bother listening to. He just wants for all this boring stuff to all hurry up so he can go home and have his  _ treat _ . Like his Daddy promised. When he finally gets led to the door, he almost jumps up into the air and shouts in relief, but when he catches the stare of one of the guards looking right at him, Bucky scowls before sticking his tongue out. 

The guard quickly straightens up before looking away. As he should.

* * *

Steve

* * *

“I know we first predicted his heat would come by the time he was fourteen but his charts are saying otherwise.”

On the table, Bucky makes a noise in the back of his throat, squeezing Steve’s hand tight. He’s distressed enough but he tries his damn well hardest not to work Bucky up more than he already is. Steve squeezes Bucky’s small hand back. “But it’s nothing to worry about, right?” 

“No,” Dr. Banner shakes his head. “Not at all. Everything about his charts are perfectly normal.”

“Then why hasn’t his heat hit? He’s been fourteen for three months now and from the very beginning it was always predicted it would hit at fourteen.”

“His lab work shows a slight increase in hormones but it’s nowhere near where typical heats start. I know it is probably frustrating, Commander, but I should remind you that you were a bit of a late bloomer yourself, remember? It’s completely normal if Bucky’s heat doesn’t kick in for the next few months, or, possibly even a year.” 

“A whole  _ year _ ?!” Bucky exclaims loudly. He glances at his son and the two lock eyes, a clash of blue on blue. “I don’t want to wait anymore. I’m old enough!” Bucky continues on, speaking directly to him rather than Banner. 

As much as Steve wants to reassure Bucky, he’s just as lost and in slight controlled desperation he looks for answers in Dr. Banner. The man must sense what Bucky is truly concerned about--  _ mating _ . Or, the lack of it. 

Looking back, Steve supposed he should have never introduced the concept to Bucky at such an early age because ever since then, it’s all Bucky has been concerned about. There had been a shift after telling Bucky that he wasn’t just his father, rather, his mate too, and while Steve understood the significance of piling that on a child, he hadn’t been able to hold his tongue, not when Bucky had strolled right on in with young Wade and talked about marriage. He put his claim on Bucky not only physically, but mentally and now that claim drove Bucky more than anything else. He pushed for it almost daily, always asking how much longer did they have to wait, or when would his body be ready. It was an onslaught and today Steve had hoped they would finally get their answers, but they were only met with  _ more  _ waiting. Always waiting. 

Dr. Banner regards them both carefully, as if he is trying to formulate the right response before it leaves his mouth.  _ Smart _ . 

“I assume you mean that you don’t want to wait anymore for a proper mating, correct?” Steve nods collectively while Bucky’s frantic to bob his head up and down, his brown hair swaying against his jaw. Dr. Banner pushes his glasses up before placing his tablet to the side. “Well, while it isn’t necessarily common between mates to engage in mating activity before their first proper ruts and heats, for the two of you I can guarantee that as long as full penetration isn’t in effect, James will be perfectly fine. If you are both ready to take the next step… certain activities won’t hurt him.” 

Steve looks back at his son, feeling the weight of his gaze. Bucky is excited, there is no denying that, with his wide eyes and the smile on his face, or how he clings to Steve’s arm, his fingers digging in. 

“Daddy, I want to.” 

Steve knows that, he does. And it would be a lie if he were to say that he didn’t want to as well, but he knows the dangers. Bucky hasn’t even hit puberty fully. He’d be nowhere near ready to take Steve’s cock, unless Steve was willing to risk splitting him open and making him bleed out. He wasn’t even sure Bucky could take a finger… but Dr. Banner said full penetration, meaning  _ some  _ penetration would be okay. 

If Steve wants to risk it. If he’d be willing to risk Bucky’s health.

He doesn’t, but he can’t bring himself to say the words aloud, not when Bucky is so happy and practically bouncing on the med bed. 

“It’s entirely up to you, Commander. If you choose to engage in certain activities, I can fully guarantee that Bucky’s health will not be affected. Of course, if you decide that you want to wait until he is properly mature in every aspect, that won’t be a mistake either. You are essentially existing in an area where either decision is viable without any consequences.” 

Bucky squeezes at Steve’s hands excitedly and when Steve looks at his son, it’s no shock to find Bucky’s attention entirely on him and nowhere near Dr. Banner. His young mind has been made up and he’s just waiting for Steve to give the final say. 

He holds Bucky’s small hands before bringing them up and planting a quick kiss on the surface. Steve spares one last glance at his son, swallowing heavily because he knows he’s going to disappoint him and he  _ hates  _ disappointing Bucky. “I’ll think about it.” 

Bucky sucks in a breath. “Daddy--” 

“We’ll discuss this more in depth later, Bucky. I need some time to think.” 

Bucky pushes out his lips, pouting, and while normally Steve wouldn’t hesitate to make that look vanish from his son’s face, this is different. One warning look in Bucky’s direction has the boy crossing his arms and looking the other way.

***

“No, Daddy! We don’t need to wait. Dr. Banner said--” 

“I know what he said, baby.”

“So then we can try!” 

" _ Bucky _ .” 

They may be in their home now, away from any wandering eyes and second inputs, but Steve is still teetering on the edge. One second he’s willing to finally make them intimate, then the next he’s forcing the thoughts away because Bucky is still so young and he’s not ready. He doesn’t know what he wants. 

But oh how  _ he  _ wants it. Steve craves for him, his blood thrumming with something so animalistic at the thought of finally sinking into Bucky’s body, meshing them into one. To finally slide into his son, his mate, and claim him once and for all. He’s waited so long… 

And he still has to wait. He has to.

For the second time that day, Bucky crosses his arms and the glare he sends at Steve is something that he’s never done before and it hurts. It wounds Steve knowing he’s upsetting his son but it’s something else entirely when tears start to fill Bucky’s eyes. 

Steve goes to his knees immediately, his face softening as he moves in front of his son. Bucky’s sitting on the edge of the bed and looking right at him, no shoes or socks or shirt, just his small shorts. 

“Baby, don’t cry…” 

Bucky sniffles and a lone tear streaks down his cheek. Steve is quick to reach up and wipe it away with the pad of his thumb before letting his hand curve against Bucky’s cheek. “We’re mates, Daddy,” he whispers, the words caressing against Steve’s skin so softly. “You said you love me so let me have this. I want us to have this. Please.  _ Please _ , Daddy.” 

How can he possibly refuse his son? His Omega is calling for him, pleading for him, so how could Steve even consider saying no to him? Bucky’s young, yes, but he’s old enough to know what their future will be like. That one day he will take Steve’s knot and they’ll be joined in ways that will only be between the two of them and no one else. 

Steve’s gaze dips down, lingering on Bucky’s lips. They’re wet and plump, such a pretty pink that turns the brightest of reds when Steve kisses against them. His eyes travel lower. He passes by the sharp juts of Bucky’s collarbones, his pale naked chest, his abdomen, the way his ribs can be seen beneath his skin due to the muscles being too juvenile to properly bulk up. Steve takes in Bucky’s navel and the soft pudge of his stomach that curves as he slouches over. Bucky’s wearing his sleep shorts but the fabric is resting high on the tops of his thighs and Steve gets an eyeful of his long thin legs, all milky and smooth and Steve can’t resist the urge to reach out and skim against all that skin with his fingertips. 

He knows that body. He’s mapped out every inch of Bucky’s skin for the past fourteen years and he’ll keep doing it until the day he dies. They’re naked together almost on a daily basis-- either in the shower or bathtub or when they change in front of each other or when they strip and just don’t bother putting clothes on-- but Steve’s never touched Bucky anywhere near his private areas, not when he’s too young to experience the pleasure of it.  _ That  _ can wait for later but for now… now, well… 

Steve squeezes the skin of Bucky’s thighs, nodding slowly. “We go slow, baby.” 

Bucky’s thin arms fall from his chest and he eagerly grabs ahold of Steve’s forearms. His watery eyes get wide and there’s so much hope that flashes across his beautiful face. “Yes,” he nods eagerly. “Yes, Daddy. Please. ” 

Five minutes later, Steve is resting against the headboard in nothing but his briefs. His bulge is pronounced and ready, already feeling the heat settle inside of him at knowing what’s to come. Bucky has already crawled between his legs and he lays there so prettily, his hands resting against the tops of Steve’s thighs and rubbing back and forth, giggling as the coarse hair tickles against his palms. They’ve always been comfortable with the lack of clothes between them but this is different, and Bucky knows it, if the buzz in the air and the smile on his face is anything to go by. 

“Pull my underwear off, Buck.” 

Bucky does as he’s told, nice and slow. His fingers peel the hem of his briefs down until Steve’s cock springs free. Bucky’s eyes go to it directly and his tongue darts out to lick against his lips. He’s always been fascinated with it, much to Steve’s amusement. Once Bucky was old enough to understand the difference between Alpha and Omega anatomy, he’d been mesmerized by how big Steve was in comparison. Now is no different, but suddenly Bucky is looking up and meeting his eyes, asking so many silent questions. 

“Do whatever you want, baby.”

It doesn’t take Bucky long to make up his mind. In a pace so slow, Bucky lowers his head until his cheek rests against the flat spanse of Steve’s hip. He takes a deep breath before he’s pressing his lips against Steve’s shaft. 

Steve hisses at the contact and he’s quick to bury his fingers into Bucky’s hair. One of Bucky’s hands comes up to wrap around the base of Steve’s cock while the other braces himself against the thick muscle of Steve’s thigh. 

The longer Bucky goes on, the bolder he gets. His kitten licks turn into deep sucks and long swipes of his tongue. He gets Steve’s shaft rock hard and wet, and when the pre-cum pebbles at the tip of Steve’s head, Bucky touches it with his finger, smearing it. “Am I doing good, Daddy?” Bucky asks, panting against him. His lips are slick and glistening and Steve’s fingers press eagerly against him before curling into Bucky’s mouth. It’s pure heat inside of him and Steve can only imagine how glorious it’ll feel to have those lips wrapped around his cock. 

“You’re doing so good, baby. So perfect, just for your Alpha.” Bucky hums and Steve is able to manipulate Bucky’s mouth shut so that his lips mold around Steve’s finger. He moans at the sensation and his fingers scrunch tighter into Bucky’s hair. “Oh, sweetheart. Do that on my cock, baby boy. You can do it.” 

When Bucky releases his finger, he’s ducking his head down right back to Steve’s cock. His blue eyes look at the thick head of Steve’s cock, his breath warm against the sensitive skin there. “In my mouth, Daddy?” he asks, tilting his head to the side so innocently. 

Steve smiles, nodding. “Yeah, baby. Take me in your mouth and do what you just did to my finger. Suck on me, Bucky.” 

Bucky’s hand that’s wrapped around Steve’s cock gives the softest of squeezes before he’s lowering his lips. He places a chaste kiss against the slit in Steve’s cock, before he’s resting the flat of his tongue against it and licking experimentally. When he registers the taste of Steve’s pre-come he gives out a little hum, smiling before he parts his lips and pulls the head of Steve’s cock into his mouth. 

Steve’s always been large and because Bucky is still too young and inexperienced in these activities, he can’t take much more than the head of Steve’s cock. His mouth is already stuffed full and through the thin layers of the skin on Bucky’s cheek he can see the outline of his tip. Groaning, he reaches down and lets his fingers rest on Bucky’s cheeks, feeling how the skin stretches to encompass Steve’s cock. It’s such a beautiful sight; his Omega, his mate, his baby boy taking him in like that. 

Even with a super-serum, Steve knows he won’t last long. He can already feel his release building and Bucky is still swirling his tongue against him, sucking nice and long, before he’s moving down Steve’s shaft and tracing the thick vein on the underside of him with his tongue. The noises that Bucky’s mouth makes has Steve’s mouth dropping open and he moans. “Oh,  _ fuck _ , baby. Such a good Omega for your Alpha.” 

Bucky hums again and Steve’s body jolts with the vibrations that it sends down his cock, right into his balls. He’s so close to coming and he’s focused enough that he’s pulling Bucky off of him. Bucky whines immediately but he’s just as quick to stop when Steve pulls him up and arranges his legs to straddle his waist, sitting Bucky right against his eager cock. 

“Hush baby, Daddy’s got you.” His hands find Bucky’s narrow waist and he drags Bucky’s bottom up the length of his cock before pushing his son’s hips back. Steve’s cock slots against the dip between Bucky’s cheeks and the friction is enough to have Steve growling, his hips jutting up to meet Bucky’s bottom. 

He’s dragging Bucky’s hips back and forth so eagerly that Bucky’s hands press into the meat of Steve’s pectorals, hanging on. But his eyes are wide in wonder and hunger, only spurring Steve on more. 

The heat boils in Steve’s groin and his motions turn frantic, more desperate. He drags Bucky’s hips faster, chasing after the pleasure that is holding him tethering on the edge. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth-- until his release slams into him like he’s been hit by a pulse cannon. 

His fingers dig into the delicate skin of Bucky’s hips before he’s sliding them up Bucky’s neck and into his hair, pulling his son’s head forward and slotting their mouths together. He slides his tongue into Bucky’s mouth and with a guttural cry, he’s panting against Bucky’s parting lips. He feels himself spurt against his chest. 

Steve doesn’t let go of Bucky as he rides out his orgasm. Bucky’s hands have been exploring his chest while they kiss but his fingers smear into Steve’s cum and he pulls back just enough to look down at the space where they press together. 

“Daddy…” he whispers, so out of breath, before his blue eyes look up and catch Steve’s gaze as he moves to sit up. Bucky holds up his hand and they both look at the sticky white mess that is smeared across his slim fingers and palm. “Daddy, what…?” 

Steve swallows as he tries to find an ounce of composure. It takes a handful of seconds but eventually he finds his voice, the shocks still going off in his body. “It’s my seed, baby. When we mate, that’s what’s going to fill you up.” 

“Inside my hole.” 

“That’s right baby,” he smiles. “When I knot you, my seed is going to fill up your hole, sweetheart.” 

Bucky regards the mess on his hand once again and it’s a marvel right in front of Steve’s eyes how his son inspects it. Then, his abdomen clenches tight as Bucky brings his palm to his mouth and takes a small, hesitant lick. Blue eyes shoot to Steve and he watches as Bucky smiles before taking another lick. “I like it, Daddy.” 

He grins. “Good. Because it’s all yours, baby. Only for you.” 

Bucky smiles. “I want to do it again,” he whispers before he squirms on top of Steve’s lap and starts to rub himself slowly against Steve’s cock as his fingers slide up and down Steve’s shaft. “I want more, Daddy.” 

“Oh, baby boy. We can do this as many times as you like.” He drops his hands onto the tops of Bucky’s thighs before he slides them up and grabs onto Bucky’s hips again. Their pace starts up once more and Steve promises himself that they’re going to do this all night long until Bucky passes out from exhaustion. 

Naturally, they do just that.

* * *

There are loud blasts of gunshots and shouts from the combat arena and his eyes scour every inch of the field, proud of what he sees. The soldiers are mighty and ferocious but still Steve gives the order to push them harder. Make them stronger. Because to him, they’re all weak. 

He’s standing right behind the sniper range when Rebecca approaches him. Well, she approaches the wall of generals that are quick to stop her, but at his impatient nod, they let her through. 

“Sir--” 

“You have three minutes,” Steve barks without looking at her, letting his eyes flick back to the sea of soldiers. 

For a beat the girl is quiet. Until, “I was given new paperwork,” she says eventually. “Nulling you as my father.” 

“And?” 

“And believe me when I say that it has been a long time, if ever, since I have considered you my father but he’s still my brother,” she says with a quiet voice, keeping it low enough so no one around them will hear. Sam’s nearby though, and his eyes are focused on them both, waiting for Steve to give the signal to whisk her back to wherever she crawled from. “You’ve taken Bucky away from me through any means you can but I am still his sister. He needs--” 

Steve rounds on her then. He feels rage bubble up in his chest, toxic and dangerous. “Bucky needs  _ me _ . You aren’t even a thought in his mind and haven’t been since the moment I forced you out. Besides, don’t pretend that it wasn’t you that put the wedge between the both of you. Not me. I acted in the way I saw fit for Bucky’s safety and wellbeing.” 

“You never gave me a chance,” Rebecca seethes. She’s not stupid enough to shout but Steve knows that if she could, she would. Still, Steve’s hands flex at his sides. “I was a  _ child _ . I had every right to be mad and lash out because of what you did to our mother-- my  _ mother  _ who you also erased from my paperwork.”

Steve rolls his eyes. 

“I have nothing,” Rebecca says, and there’s no missing the sheer desperation in her voice. “You’ve kicked me out of my home. You’ve taken my mother from me. My brother… Please, Commander. I want to know him. He’s all that I have.” 

“You truly think I will let you get close to him only to--”

The girl has the audacity to cut him off. He hasn’t seen her or talked to her in years, and she’s still the same. Insolent. Ill-mannered. A  _ waste _ . 

“I won’t pretend that I am loyal to you, sir, but he’s my brother. The last thing I told her was that I would watch out for him and protect him by any means. My loyalty is to Bucky and no one else.” 

He should kill her for saying those words. His jaw is clenched hard, and his fingers itch to grab for his gun, and Sam is there, waiting for the signal but with strange hesitation, he doesn’t give it. Steve refuses to pity this girl. He despises her more than anything and had once considered killing her off as soon as she was born because he didn’t need her then and he doesn’t need her now but… but she can give something else that no one else can. She’s said the words herself: she’s loyal to Bucky. 

And only Bucky. 

These men around him can’t say the same. Even Sam. If push were to come to shove, these people would all be for themselves, or even worse, for their Commander and the Capitol. They don’t understand that without Bucky, he would ruin everyone and everything they’ve ever built. To them, Bucky is just an insolent child, someone that can be expendable and certainly someone who doesn’t deserve complete protection and devotion, no matter how badly Steve has stressed it over the years. If there were a gunman in the room, and they had a choice between saving him or Bucky, each and every one of them wouldn’t hesitate to jump in front of their sacred Commander. Just as Steve wouldn’t hesitate to rip them each to shreds afterwards. 

But this girl wouldn’t do that. No, she’d jump in front of Bucky without hesitation. 

She’s begged him for years and each time, he’d turned her away. She’s begging him now, too, and yet he’s still permitting her presence right alongside him. 

He has taken  _ everything  _ from her, there’s no doubt about that. Just as there’s no doubt in his mind that she hates him straight to his core and back. It could be a trick. She could have some mastermind plan brewing in that useless head of hers but what’s the worst she can do? The only way she can ruin him is hurt Bucky, but  _ that  _ is what Steve knows she will never do. 

But still… to let her back into Bucky’s life? After he’s kept her out for so long? Then again, it’s not like Steve would let her see him more than once a week, let alone once every two weeks. And if she seriously thinks that he would ever let her be with Bucky alone… ha. Her loyalty to his son, however, is something that is too strong to deny and can only be utilized to Steve’s advantage. 

“You won’t ever be alone with him,” he tells her. He still hasn’t found the energy to spare her a glance. 

“I don’t need to be alone with him. I just ask for the chance to spend time with him. Get to know him. Keep my word to our-- my mother.” 

Nodding briskly, he gives his permission before dismissing her. “Go back to your duties.” 

“Yes, Commander sir.”

* * *

Bucky

* * *

It’s… weird. And he doesn’t  _ like  _ weird. 

But, with a quick glance he finds Uncle Riley nearby before looking back to his sister. He bites into his cheek as he picks up his legs and presses his knees into his chest on the couch where he’s sitting. “What do you want?” 

Becca chuckles awkwardly as she lowers herself into the closest armchair that Riley points her to. “Long time no see, huh?” 

Is it supposed to be a joke? Is she trying to be funny? He doesn’t laugh. In fact, he doesn’t do anything but stare at her, taking her in. The last time he had seen her was maybe a year ago when him and his Daddy went strolling through the training grounds when Bucky refused to go to classes. She’d spotted him and had tried to approach but his Daddy had been quick to order her back whatever it was that she did in her Alpha training. She had waved as she retreated and while he felt the need to wave back and at least acknowledge her, he had felt the weight of his Daddy’s gaze and disregarded her without a second of hesitation. Since then, it’s been silence and she’s been far, far, far away from him. 

He lets his eyes take her in. She looks the same but different too, older but more than just in years. She looks pretty tired too and Bucky doesn’t have to wonder why. Alpha training is intense and he’s seen it with own eyes and heard it with his own ears the few times he sees Wade. But Alpha’s are supposed to be strong, like his Daddy. 

During his silence, Becca’s been steadily looking around the room. “This place has changed so much,” she mumbles and wildly, Bucky looks around too. It doesn’t look much different. It’s home. “Do you get to leave this floor without the Commander?” 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “That’s a stupid question. Of course I do. I go to my classes. The gardens. The doctor. Anywhere I want whenever I want to go.” Well, that last part isn’t exactly true but it’s not like she needs to know that. 

“Sorry. I just… assumed. When we were little you never got to go anywhere without--”

“Dad?”

Becca nods. “You’ve gotten so big. I feel ancient looking at you. Like so much time has passed.”

“Because a lot of time has passed.” 

“I know,” she bows her head and looks toward the ground briefly. “I… I feel like this is so awkward and I know that it’s all my fault. I want to apologize for how I treated you when we were younger. Do you remember any of that?” 

Bucky frowns. He remembers her and how she was mean but that was because his Daddy always told him how unpleasant she was. He doesn’t remember the specifics of it. How she was or what she did. Or why she is the way she is. Bucky shrugs. “No, not really.” 

“You don’t remember me?” 

Again he shrugs. “Kinda. But you left.” He doesn’t remember that either. He had always just assumed that one day she was there, living with him and his Daddy, then one day she was gone. He couldn’t imagine someone else in their home with them and he’s so glad that she isn’t ever coming back. His Daddy  _ did  _ always say that she didn’t belong there. 

“Do you remember…” she darts a glance toward Uncle Riley, who has been busy making lunch in the kitchen. She shoots him a tight smile before shaking her head. Bucky frowns. “So tell me all about you. Anything interesting?” 

Interesting? Now that is something that he’s more than eager to talk about. He perks up and shifts to sit criss-cross on the couch. “Dr. Banner says my heat will come soon.” 

Her eyes get wide. “Really? That… that certainly is interesting. Has the Commander-- have you” she swallows, “-- do they think you’re a late bloomer? I was and they said it’s genetic.” 

“Yeah, that’s what Dr. Banner said. But he said until my heat hits fully, me and Daddy can do other things.”

“You and the Commander?” she repeats, her eyebrows scrunching. “What other things?” 

“Mating--” He starts to say but the words die in his throat as Becca’s face pales. She looks downright horrified and Bucky bites into his lip as Uncle Riley’s voice calls his name sharply. 

“ _ Bucky _ .” 

He scrambles to look over his shoulder and he sees his Uncle’s green eyes flicker between him and Becca. 

“Come eat your lunch.” 

He does as he’s told and starts to get up, only Becca puts her hand out, not touching him but stopping him from advancing toward the kitchen. “No, it’s fine,” she says, more to Riley than to him. “We can talk about something else. Please.” 

Bucky stands still. He’s completely confused and he stares at his Uncle with scrunched brows, waiting for instructions because Becca isn’t in charge of him. She can’t tell him what to do.

“Bucky.” Uncle Riley repeats a second time and Bucky certainly doesn’t want his name to be said again otherwise his Daddy will find out and he won’t get to have  _ fun _ . “Come eat, please.” 

He gives one quick glance toward Becca before he sidesteps her arm and goes to the kitchen and does as he’s told. 

Behind him, he hears Becca sigh.

* * *

Steve

* * *

Things are perfect, until they suddenly aren’t. 

It’s a normal day in the Capitol and Steve is standing around a round table with his top generals discussing the latest plan of attack against Fury and the dwindling number of his force. They’ve just begun talking about a complete storm against their base when Stark comes rushing in. All of their heads snap up, eyes locking on the man.

“JARVIS just intercepted a Code Red from our inside source. We have an incoming attack in t-minus fifteen minutes.”

Steve chuckles. Leave it to Fury to try to be the first one to attack even with his pathetic excuse of an army. But it’s a bold move. A  _ stupid  _ move. S.H.I.E.L.D has never attacked the Capitol directly, usually going after the outskirt bases instead when there’s only a few dozens of soldiers, if that. Heading straight for the Capitol is a suicide mission but if Fury wants to play, then by all means, Steve’s ready.

He nods to Sam and the others. “Fortify all entrances and exits along the Capitol’s walls. Deploy everyone we--” 

“ _ Sir _ ,” Stark juts in. All eyes snap to the man. His tone isn’t impatient. It’s more like he’s terrified and Steve feels something cold trickle down his spine because Stark has never been as serious as he is right then, his brown eyes wide and face pale. “Sir. They’re already in.” 

***

Everything is a blur. 

The Capitol’s alarms are on and blaring and soldiers are all rushing into their positions, scoping for anything that doesn’t belong. He has a small task force that accompanies him as he runs for the hangar, but all Squad Leaders are connected through Steve’s earpiece and he hears as one by one clears their assigned floor of the Capitol building. 

He doesn’t bother wasting his time. The only way someone would ever be admitted into the Capitol was if they had their appointed credentials. Meaning if S.H.I.E.L.D is already in, then Steve has a leak. Which is why he issued the order for Bucky to be brought to the East hangar immediately. He can’t risk having his son anywhere near the Capitol, not if the enemy is already inside. 

Just as Steve enters the hangar, he’s met with the appointed armed soldiers that he hand selected to be Bucky’s guard. They have each surrounded his son, and their weapons are locked and loaded, waiting for the faintest sign of a threat. He’s quick to realize that Becca is right beside her brother, or at least she was until Bucky spotted him and pushed his way past his guards, throwing himself right into Steve’s arms. 

“Daddy, what’s happening?” 

Steve barely manages to kiss the top of Bucky’s head when suddenly there’s a loud blast and the ground rumbles beneath their feet. He’s quickly shuffling Bucky behind him before he looks over his shoulder back in the direction he came from. 

Near the upper sides of the western part of the Capitol building, flames and black smoke is billowing out of the shattered windows. Instantly the guards around him all raise their weapons and face the blast, forming a wall between Steve and the attack. 

In a flash, Steve is moving. He hooks his hands beneath Bucky’s armpits and hefts him up into the backseat of the closest armored vehicle. 

Bucky tries to push Steve’s hands away, shaking his head and looking at him with wide-eyed terror. “No! I don’t want to leave you!” 

Steve can’t afford to hear his son’s pleas. He ignores Bucky and forces him down into his seat before Steve’s reaching over and yanking the seatbelt across his son, clicking it into place. He tugs hard on the strap before turning to order some of the guards into the vehicle, pretending he can’t feel as Bucky’s fingers try to grab onto him. One jumps behind the wheel, another in the passenger seat, and he nods for Rebecca and another soldier to join Bucky in the backseat. 

When everyone is ready and in position, Steve turns back to Bucky. Rebecca is waiting for him to move but she’s hovering right behind him, alert and watching as the fire blazes in the distance. 

Bucky latches onto him like a lifeline. “Daddy, please don’t make me go,” he says, and Steve’s chest aches at the tears that fill his son’s eyes. 

He cups Bucky’s face between his hands. “Bucky, ssh. Everything will be fine. We’re just being safe. You’ll be back home before you know it. I love you, baby.” 

Bucky nods but his hands still grip against Steve tight, as if refusing to let go. “I love you, too, Daddy.” Then, Bucky reaches up and locks his fingers behind Steve’s neck and pulls him forward. He could easily resist the tug, but Steve goes along with it. Their lips slot together and for just the briefest of seconds, everything is perfect once again in Steve’s world. 

When another blast goes off though, Steve’s forcing them apart. He backs away from the vehicle and roughly pushes Rebecca forward to get in beside Bucky. Steve steps to the driver’s side and snags the soldier by his vest. “This vehicle doesn’t stop until it gets my direct order. Understood?” 

“Sir, yes sir.” 

Without another word, Steve is backing away and gives the frame of the vehicle a solid thump, signaling the driver to go. The hangar doors open and the vehicle revs from the garage and off of the Capitol’s grounds. His heart feels heavy but he can breathe a bit more easily knowing that Bucky is safe. 

Steve takes a steadying deep breath before he clenches his jaw, turns around, and heads straight for the inferno.

* * *

Bucky

* * *

Everything inside of him  _ hurts  _ watching the Capitol disappear behind them. 

“We have to go back!” he begs but the words fall on deaf ears. None of the guards address him or stop scanning the empty horizon ahead of them, but it’s nothing that he’s not used to. Still, he tries to unbuckle himself and do  _ something  _ but Becca is pushing his hands away. 

“Bucky, stop. You heard the Commander’s orders. We can’t go back until he gives the call.” 

“But we’re under attack! Something can happen!” 

“You have to stay calm,” she tells him, like it’s that easy. Like he isn’t ready to throw himself from this stupid vehicle and run all the way back home. Did she not see the fire? Did she not hear the blasts? When he looks at her in disbelief, ready to argue, his mouth closes because he can see the way her eyes flick from guard to guard, then to the monitor in the front that gives their GPS location. She must be scared, too, he realizes. And she’s an  _ Alpha _ . It’s certainly hypocritical for her to tell him to stay calm when she looks like she’s ready to bolt, too. 

Except his eyes drift down to her lap when he sees that she’s pulling out her gun. “Becca. What--” 

It all happens so fast. Too fast. One second he’s looking at the gun and the next he’s screaming as she fires it off.  _ Pop _ ,  _ pop _ ,  _ pop _ . The noise is loud and vicious and he’s reaching to cover up his ears just as Becca is reaching over him and opening the side door, kicking out the soldier before yanking the door shut again. In a flash of movement she’s catapulting into the front seat and pushing the passenger out before taking hold of the wheel and discarding the original driver. 

In the back, he’s stunned. His eyes are wide and his hands tremble as he wraps them around the strap of his seatbelt. There’s red splattered everywhere and he can feel something wet on his cheek but he refuses to touch it. He can’t. He’s-- he’s--

“What did you do,” he whispers. It’s suddenly too quiet in the vehicle and all he can hear is the harsh pants of his breathing. His ears are still ringing. And she’s just sitting there. Quiet. Like she didn’t just-- “ _ Becca _ !” he screeches. 

“Everything is fine, Bucky!” she barks. Her hands are tight around the wheel, her knuckles bone-white, but she’s glancing at the monitor as she rips off her earpiece and throws it out the window that she cracks down. 

Everything is so  _ not  _ fine. There’s blood in the car. She’s just killed three of their father’s soldiers. And she’s just pulled off from the coordinates programmed into the monitor, putting them on a different path that heads straight for the mountains. 

Bucky sucks in a breath. The mountains… “Where are you taking us? 

“Away from here.” 

“The mountains aren’t part of the Nation. That’s S.H.I.E.L.D territory,” he tells her. As if she doesn’t know that. There’s no way she can’t be aware that they aren’t supposed to ever go there. But when he glances at her, she’s staring dead ahead, breathing heavily. The vehicle hasn’t started to slow down not one bit and the longer she drives, the faster he can feel his stomach sinking, making him feel sick. “Stop the vehicle. I don’t want to be in here anymore, Becca. Stop!” 

“I’m not stopping.” 

“ _ Becca _ !”

“ _ Bucky _ !” With a harsh pant, she turns to look at him. Her eyes are blazing up a storm and the weight of her glare has him shutting up immediately. Not a second later, she’s turning back around and focusing on the land ahead of them. 

They’re getting closer to the mountains. 

He swallows, licking at his lips because he knows what they’re doing is so wrong. He also knows that his Daddy is going to be so, so,  _ so  _ angry. 


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky

* * *

They’ve been walking. 

He’s had no choice ever since Becca made the decision to ditch the vehicle after proclaiming they would track it. He didn’t need to know who ‘they’ was, but he had little other options than to follow her lead. It didn’t matter how many times he demanded that they stop, or when he tried to slow them down by decreasing his speed, or when he took the liberty to sit down on the grass and refuse to move until his Daddy came to get him-- because each and every time, Becca would heave him up and force him onward. 

They’re heading towards the mountains and with each step they take, they get closer to the base-- further from his Daddy and his home and everything he’s ever known. He should have never left his Daddy’s side. He should have never gotten into that stupid vehicle. He should have never trusted his sister. 

Because now, he’s tired and thirsty and his feet hurt and the stupid vest that Becca made him wear is too heavy and too tight. 

Bucky huffs, kicking at the ground. “Why are we doing this?” 

Becca’s been faceforward the entire time, not sparing him a second. And now is no different. “Bucky. Please.’ 

“You have no clue what you’re doing. Do you? 

“Stop talking.” 

Bucky glares at the back of her head. “No,” he snaps. “You dragged us out in the middle of nowhere and now we’re going to die out here.” 

“We aren’t going to die.” 

“Not if Daddy doesn’t find us,” he points out, feeling the pang of longing hit him in his chest. He misses his Daddy, needs his Daddy. If his Daddy was here, then he wouldn’t be feeling like this. So miserable. So angry. So  _ lost _ . “You’re going to be in so much trouble. He’ll know what you did.” 

And boy is he eager for that. Becca deserves to be punished for this. She killed Capitol guards. She brought them way out here, away from home and dangerously close to enemy territory. He can only imagine how furious his Daddy will be when he finds out because there are rules to be followed and Bucky is to never, ever, under no circumstance go somewhere where his Daddy doesn’t give his permission. Not only has he gone out of the Capitol, but into the very place he was never supposed to ever even see or go near. _ S.H.I.E.L.D.  _ He can’t understand why Becca would be doing this, why she would risk going into the enemy’s land. Every instinct he has is screaming at him to turn around and run as far and as fast as he can, but he knows Becca will be on him in seconds, if that. And… and the ugly feeling in his stomach has him fearing the worst. What if his Daddy thinks he wanted to run away? Who will be there to tell his Daddy that Bucky didn’t want to leave? 

Bucky bites hard into his cheek, his eyes scouring the grass as they trample over it. His Daddy won’t hurt him, he knows that, but he’ll be disappointed. And he just can’t deal with that. 

He doesn’t have to dwell for long because he’s suddenly colliding into Becca and when he looks up, he’s not surprised to find her looking down at him. Her lips are curled into a sneer. He wants nothing more than to kick her in the shins as hard as he can.

“You’re  _ ‘Daddy’  _ isn’t going to find us. The Commander is far from us and soon we’ll be somewhere where he can’t ever find us.” 

His leg shoots out but she’s quick and blocks the kick with her boot before nudging his knee and forcing him down to the ground. His fingers clench in the grass and he wants to scream but he doesn’t, because he’s looking up at her and demanding, “Why? Why are you doing this?” 

Her face shifts and Bucky hates it. “Bucky--” she sighs, reaching down to help him back up but he’s shoving her hands away and clambering back onto his feet. He doesn’t need her help. He doesn’t need  _ her _ . 

“No! Answer my question.” 

With an irritated huff, Becca plants her hands on her hips. “You want the truth?  _ Fine _ . Your father is a cruel man. He’s killed thousands, including our mother, Bucky.” He starts to shake his head, refusing to listen, but she grabs him roughly by the collar of his vest and pulls him close. “No, you wanted me to talk, so I am. Now you’re going to listen to me. I did these things to get you away from him. He’s chosen you as his mate, Bucky. You’re his son! Do you not see how wrong that is?” 

Again, he shoves her hands off of him and narrows his eyes. “Daddy loves me more than anyone. Even you.” 

“It’s my fault that I haven’t made more of an effort into spending time with you but he’s kept me away for a reason. If I would have known he chose you, I would have done everything in my power to get you away sooner. He’s poison and the longer you--” 

“ _ Stop right there! _ ” 

Both of them whirl on the spot, turning to find four men with guns pointed right in their faces. There’s no missing the ensignal on their uniforms. They’re S.H.I.E.L.D soldiers. The enemy. His heart plummets as one of the men steps forward, his gun refusing to waver. 

“Both of you put your hands up. Now!” 

Immediately, Becca’s go up but for a split second, he hesitates. They aren’t in charge of him and he knows without a doubt that if his Daddy was to find out someone pointed a gun at him… These men would be  _ nothing  _ for his Daddy. But a hard elbow into his side has him reluctantly doing as he’s told. He scowls at the men as he raises his hands up. 

There’s a brief moment where there is absolute silence. No one moves, no one says a word. He half expects Becca to overpower these men just as easily as she ended the guards in the vehicle. She could easily take one of their guns or-- 

“He’s the son of Commander High Alpha Rogers,” Becca is saying suddenly, ruining any chance of escape. Bucky’s neck hurts with how fast he turns his head to look at her. “We seek sanctuary.” 

The guard standing closest to them lowers his gun. They all have gone pale, each of their eyes wide. 

Bucky swallows against the sudden dryness of his throat.

* * *

Steve

* * *

The smell of smoke clings heavily around them all and while the fire has long been extinguished, the faint pop and crumble of the burnt surroundings falls every few minutes. It’s a scene of chaos, one that’s never been painted on the Capitol before and the sight of it has him ready for war. 

JARVIS managed to extinguish and contain the explosion to the west side of the Capitol but the destruction was still prominent. As of the latest body count, the number was at thirteen. Two had been the Omega mates of two of his generals, and the rest had been guards and Capitol staff. He’s grateful that classes had still been in session so none of the high-class children were harmed but it was unnerving to them all that a traitor had been able to penetrate their highly guarded Capitol, where only the most prominent of the Nation resided. The people of the Nation all lined up along the Capitol walls and peered in through the iron bars on the gates, their faces all in shock and ashen. He doesn’t need to wonder what they’re thinking. It’s all written across their expressions. They no doubt fear that if the sacred Capitol can take a hit, then getting to them would be as easy as simply saying hello. He’s already ordered for the damage control to disperse the crowds but the smoke is still billowing into the blue sky just as their eyes keep watching. 

But now… now the embers are settling and he’s done ordering the commands for discarding the rubble. Now he just needs his son, that reassurement that he’s alive and well. 

His hand flies to the comm in his ear and he gives the order for Stark to connect him to the guards and vehicle he had secured Bucky into. Everything crunches beneath his feet as he makes his way to the Control Center, waiting for the connection to finally kick in. For five seconds, he waits patiently, but then the time continues to tick and there’s no sudden click in his ear that the call has gone through. When it does, everything in Steve’s body turns cold as he hears Stark’s voice again. 

“Sir, you need to get here immediately.” 

He stops in his tracks just for a beat, before he’s sprinting full force and dreading the worst. But he knows. He feels it in his gut instantly that Bucky’s in danger. He roars, but it falls upon deaf ears. 

***

He doesn’t register when his fists go flying through the granite counters but they do, and when he pulls them back they’re covered in dust. His hands ache to kill, to rip and cause pain, to destroy everything in his path but he can’t do anything apart from stare at the screen where the red dot mocks him. It's the vehicle’s last coordinate with any sign of lifeform on the inside. There was no report of the vehicle taking damage and the statistics for the vehicle’s armor was still at full percent, signifying that whatever had gone wrong happened from the inside. 

“The last signal the vehicle gave off was the back left door opening and closing,” Stark’s voice informs them.  _ Bucky was in that seat.  _ “The vehicle hasn’t moved since. That was seventy-four minutes ago.” 

Seventy-four minutes. Seventy-four fucking minutes that Bucky has been out there, vulnerable, exposed to everything that Steve can’t protect him from. His heart pounds in his chest, his blood rushes in his ears.  _ Seventy-four minutes.  _

He refrains from punching through one of the computers but only because Sam is standing right there in front of it. Still, he grabs the nearest object that he can get his hands on and chunks it across the room, holding his breath as it shatters against the wall. He doesn’t know what to do. He can’t even breathe properly, his lungs fluctuating within his ribcage. Everything hurts, everything aches.

“How did we not get notified when the vehicle stopped?” Sam asks harshly, his voice strong when Steve’s isn’t. “Who was in charge of monitoring that vehicle?” 

Steve’s head snaps up at that. Stark looks in the direction of a man that’s been steadily shrinking in on himself since they entered and Steve advances on him instantly. The man cries out as Steve sends a punch to his cheek, feeling the bone crunch beautifully beneath his knuckles. He doesn’t stop though. Not when the man falls to the floor or when he lifts up his hands and begs for mercy. 

Steve yanks him up by the collar of his uniform, shaking him. “You had one  _ fucking  _ job,” he growls between his teeth. “One job!” 

The man has the audacity to try and make his appeal but Steve forces the words to die on his tongue by wrapping his hands around the man’s throat and squeezing. 

He squeezes until he feels the muscle shift beneath his fingers. 

He squeezes until something crunches. 

When the man coughs up a spray of blood, Steve’s dropping him on the ground like the useless piece of meat that he is. The gurgles of the soldier choking on his own blood powers Steve on and if he were anyone else, he’d make his suffering quick. But this man deserves every  _ fucking  _ second of pain he gets, not worthy enough for the mercy of a bullet or a quick boot to the skull. 

“What’s the on-foot time until they reach the mountains?” he’s demanding.

“Just over an hour, sir.” 

“ _ Fuck _ !” Steve shouts out. Bucky’s long gone by now. Even if he were to get there on the fastest vehicle they had, he’d be absolutely useless. He’s never felt so helpless in his entire life.

“They’re taking him to S.H.I.E.L.D?” Sam turns to look at him, bewilderment all across his face. “The mission was a suicide. Security feed showed only two assailants. Bucky’s guard is monitored 24/7 and they’ve never had contact with either of the assailants. We would have known if one of them was a mole.” 

Steve looks back at the screen. That red dot still sits there. “No one in his guard is a mole.” He doesn’t spare Sam the time when he looks toward him, frowning in confusion. “It’s Rebecca.” 

Sam curses. 

Steve clenches his fists so tight that the bones in his hands creak and ache. His jaw is clenched so hard, it wouldn’t be a shock if his teeth were to break. “I’m going to fucking kill her,” he mutters, low and dark. “Patch me into the source.  _ Now _ !”

* * *

Bucky

* * *

He’s sitting at a steel table and staring across it at a man with an eyepatch. The man is bald and his head is shining just slightly underneath the harsh white light of the room. There’s an intimidating redhead woman beside the man who is watching Bucky carefully, not even sparing Becca a glance, and the intensity of her gaze has him barely resisting the urge to shift beneath her watchful eyes. There’s another woman, a brunet, who is standing behind them both along with a few armed guards near the entrance. Six against two… or more like seven against one because Becca is no better than these strangers. 

The eyepatch man leans in closer. His fingers tap against the metal table. “You expect me to believe that Rogers’ kid just slipped out of the Capitol and happened to land on my doorstep?” 

Bucky glares at him but the man doesn’t fold. If anything, he looks downright amused. 

“You attacked the Capitol,” Becca says easily and Bucky  _ hates  _ that she feels so natural here, like she  _ wants  _ to be here. “The Commander wanted his son safe so he made him leave the grounds not knowing where the attack would be or the severity of it. I saw my chance. I brought us here.” 

The redhead’s gaze drifts to Becca so fast that if he hadn’t been looking at her, he’d have missed it because her green eyes are on him again before he can even blink. 

“Right,” the man chuckles. “You just happen to hate your almighty Commander, be paired with his son, and then decide to turn against him? Do I look like a fool to you because it sounds like a whole lot of bullshit that is coming out of your mouth.” 

Beside him, Becca takes a deep breath. “The Commander is my father. Biologically and nothing more. He hates me, and I hate him. It’s as simple as that.” 

“Why?” 

Bucky looks at her then, just as eager as the man for the answer. It’s the question that has plagued him for as long as he can remember. Since he remembered her being so mean to him as a kid, since she was always so difficult, since she killed their own guards and brought them to this stupid place. Why, why, why. None of it made sense. It’s  _ never  _ made sense. 

“Because I was born wrong,” she whispers. “I wasn’t born an Omega. My brother was. My brother... is his Omega son.” 

Something shifts in the room. The air changes. The brunet woman’s eyebrows lift up; the man’s gaze hardens. The redhead stays composed as ever. 

The man draws back in his chair. The look he levels Becca with makes the hairs on Bucky’s neck stand up. “Are you telling me that this boy is the Commander’s mate?” he asks before he shakes his head and stands up. The legs of his chair screech against the hard floor and as he rounds the table, both Becca and the redhead watch the man carefully. 

A hand reaches for him and pulls down the collar of Bucky’s shirt. “He has no bond mark.” 

“He’s only fourteen. He hasn’t even hit his first heat yet. I needed to get him away before the Commander could do anything else. He’s a kid. My brother deserves a chance at a normal life.”

He wants to shake his head and tell them all that he has a normal life. A great life. He likes his home and he loves his Daddy. That’s all he needs. All he wants. But he can’t do anything more than sit there and stare helplessly at all the people around him. He doesn’t look up at the man but he can feel the sheer magnitude of the man’s gaze as it beams down onto him. 

He holds his breath as the hand releases him, only to drift down to his shoulder. He can feel every finger, every knuckle as the man touches him. And he  _ hates  _ it. 

The man chuckles low and deep, making a shiver shoot down Bucky’s spine. “You, my boy, have just made my goddamn year.” 

***

Everything about the S.H.I.E.L.D base is the complete opposite of the Capitol that Bucky calls home. There are no people, no windows, no AI. It’s just guards with weapons and cement walls and floors that click with every step they take. 

And it’s just him. Well, him and the redhead along with a handful of guards. What they’re guarding, he doesn’t know because he doubts any of them are feeling particularly threatened by a scrawny kid like him when they’re all big and burly and most obviously, armed. But they all flock around him as he follows after the redhead. 

He doesn’t say a word. Not as they walk down hall after hall or even as the woman leads him to a room that he’s allowed to enter. The door closes behind him and when he turns to look over his shoulder, he’s surprised that it’s just him and the woman now and no one else. Clearly this woman is more than capable on her own but it makes him wonder if the guards were just a show. Either way, he doesn’t care. He’s just counting down the minutes until his Daddy comes barreling through this stupid place and takes him back home. 

The redhead pulls out a chair from the only table in the room and she nods her chin at it for him to take a seat. He does but he doesn’t bother to say thank you, not even when she pushes it in for him, too. He just blinks at her as she slides into the seat across from him. 

It’s awkward. So awkward that he can’t manage to look at her for more than a few seconds until he has to redirect his attention, choosing to look around the room instead. It’s no shock that the room is just as lifeless and dull as the rest of the base. Everything is cold, sterile. Dr. Banner’s hospital wing has more personality than this and that’s saying something. This place is just sad. 

No windows, just artificial light beaming down from slits in the ceiling. There’s a bed shuffled against one wall with tight covers and smooth pillows. There’s two couches that face each other and a little coffee table in between. But other than the table he’s sitting at with four chairs, there’s nothing else. No art on the walls, no wallpaper or paint, not the slightest hint of a color. It’s as if the whole room has been sucked dry and the hollow shell is all that’s left. 

His eyes flicker back to the redhead. He licks at his lips. “This room is ugly,” he says. “This whole place is ugly.” 

The woman’s lips curl into a small smile. “You certainly are something else,” she chuckles. But then she turns her head as if she’s regarding the room and she nods. “And you’re right. Fury should probably hire a decorator. Maybe you’d be interested?” 

“I’m not staying here.” 

“Oh?” she asks, raising her arched brows. “Do you plan on walking out the front doors or…” 

“My Daddy is coming for me,” he answers matter-of-factly. “And when he gets here, he’s gonna kill all of you.” 

“Is that right?” 

“Yep,” he nods his head. He knows he probably looks smug but truthfully, he can’t wait for his Daddy to come storming into this place. Whatever he does to this base will be an upgrade to what they already have going on. 

Interestingly, the woman smiles again. “Fury never asked you before. You’re sister never said it either. So if you’d be so kind, mind telling me your name?”

Does he? He doesn’t care but would his Daddy want him telling this woman? This stranger? But it won’t really matter, will it? No, because this woman already has a target on her back whether she knows it or not. If she’s in the room when his Daddy gets here, she’s gonna be  _ gone _ . Then it won’t matter if she knows his name or not. 

He releases his bottom lip that he’d subconsciously pulled in between his teeth. His eyes scour over the unblemished surface of the table. “Bucky,” he informs her eventually.

“Your real name.” 

Bucky looks up at her. He doesn’t even remember the last time anyone’s ever called him by his first name. He wonders if anyone even knows. Apart from his Daddy, of course. 

“James,” he murmurs. 

“Nice to meet you, James,” she says before sticking out her hand. “My name’s Nat.” 

Bucky’s gaze drifts from her outstretched hand up to her green eyes. He regards her carefully. “Your real name,” he says, mimicking her words from earlier. 

“Natasha.” 

It’s then that he shakes her hand. At least now they’re on fair playing ground. Somewhat. Kinda. In his mind, at least. 

“Well, James, you have found yourself in quite the predicament, haven’t you? You are in the deepest part of the main S.H.I.E.L.D base.”

His eyebrows scrunch together. “So?” Is that supposed to intimidate him? If so, he should probably laugh. 

“So do you really think your father is coming here? From a strategic point, I would say no.” 

This time, he really does laugh. He sits back in his chair and raises his eyebrows. “I guess we’ll see, Natasha.” 

“I guess so, James.” 

He wouldn’t say he’s grown comfortable with her, but it’s the most he’s felt at ease since the moment his Daddy shoved him into that vehicle. He’s known her only for an hour, maybe two, and he feels more relaxed with her than he ever has with Becca. 

Speaking of Becca… 

“Will Becca be coming in here with me?

“Would you like for her to?” 

Bucky bites into his cheek. He should probably say yes. He should  _ want  _ to say yes but he wants nothing more than for her to stay far, far, far away from him. This is all her fault. Every last bit of it. Slowly, he shakes his head, not meeting Natasha’s gaze. He’s scared of what he might find. 

She nods. “It doesn’t take a genius to make the connections. You’re a kid. Even if you were an Alpha you wouldn’t have been able to overpower the other soldiers that were with you. Certainly you and the girl didn’t make it out on your own. Was there anyone else?” 

“No… just her. She killed them. It had been fast.” 

“Did you want her to kill them?” 

He gives her a funny look, huffing at such a ridiculous thing to say. “No. Because now that means I’m here at this place. And I don’t want to be here.” 

“I understand. But surely you find me to be a bit bearable, right? Maybe just a little?” she says, smiling. 

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even admit to himself that he’d almost forgotten just where he was for a moment because of how at ease she’d made him feel. He has to remind himself that she’s the enemy. 

“I think you’ve had a long day today,” she says eventually, breaking the silence. “You should rest.” 

He shoots her a look that says ‘do I look stupid?’ There’s no telling what Natasha or any of the other S.H.I.E.L.D guards would do to him if his eyes were to slip closed. He is tired, but he wouldn’t dare. Not here, not now. 

He shakes his head. “No. I need to--” 

“Director Fury is planning to contact Commander Rogers in the next few hours. When he’s ready for you, we’ll be summoned. In the meantime, that door won’t move an inch while you’re sleeping. You need your energy.” 

Bucky frowns at her. “Why?” 

“Because your father needs you. Just as you need him,” she tells him. “I know you have no reason to trust me, James, but no one will harm you. I can promise you that. Would you like to hear some insight?” Wordlessly, Bucky nods. “You are very valuable. Probably the most important person in this entire base. Fury may be your father’s enemy, but he doesn’t hurt kids.” 

“I believe you,” he whispers. And strangely, he means it.

***

When he wakes up, it’s with a jolt. He can feel his heart hammering in his chest and as he rubs the sleep from his eyes, he’s aware that it’s dark inside the room apart from a faint blue tint that shines across the room. He sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth at the sight of someone else in the room with him, but he releases it, shuddering, as he realizes it’s Natasha on a tablet. 

Not that she’s any better, but at least it isn’t a stranger or worse, Director Fury. 

Natasha’s talking lowly, too quiet for him to hear, but she must hear him because her eyes pick up over the edge of the tablet and lock on him. “He’s awake,” she’s saying before she sharply nods her head and taps something on the screen that increases the brightness in the room but just barely. She puts the tablet down but he can see that it’s still on and running. “Good morning, James.” 

He practically leaps from the bed. “It’s morning?!” he exclaims. 

“No,” she answers with an amused smile. “You’ve only been asleep for two hours.”

_ Two hours?  _ He throws his back and almost whines. That’s a long time to be away from his home. Too long. He knows that his Daddy must be going crazy. He can’t imagine what must be happening back at the Capitol. But what he does know is that he needs to do something. He needs-- 

“I need--” 

“Yes, you do,” Natasha interrupts him. How she knows what he needs is beyond him but there’s something in the way that she looks at him that has him closing his mouth and straightening up. 

It’s time to get down for business. 

Twenty minutes later, after being led once again through the maze of lifeless halls, he’s being placed in a chair that sits alone in front of a giant screen on the wall. Director Fury is talking but the words all get blurred when Bucky catches sight of his Daddy on the screen. He tries to bolt up but strong hands are suddenly on his shoulders and holding him in place. The grip on him is like a vice and he can feel the pain sear into him like pinpricks. When he picks his head up to look at the person above him, he feels something coil up inside of him when he sees that it’s none other than Becca. 

“No,” she’s reprimanding him. “You need to listen.”

* * *

Steve

* * *

He’s going to kill her. 

He’s going to drag out her torture as long as humanly possible then he’s going to rip her apart limb by limb and feed her to the same animals that devoured her mother’s scraps of flesh. He’s going to make her regret every choice she’s ever made. 

He’s going to make her wish that she’d never been born. 

Watching Bucky through the screen look up at Becca with wide eyes, betrayal so apparent in them, has Steve seething with a new level of rage that he’s never felt before. It was one thing to know that Becca kidnapped Bucky and forced him into enemy territory, but it’s another thing entirely to physically see her put her hands on him. And fuck does that make him see red. 

His hands curl tight into fists and while every fiber in his being is demanding that he do everything in his power to wrap his arms around Bucky and pull him straight through the screen. 

But Bucky is over an hour away in the hands of the very people Steve was so close to destroying once and for all. He’d been too late. Just as he’d been too trusting. 

He can’t pull his eyes off of Bucky though, not even as Fury steps back in front of him, shielding him from Steve’s gaze. 

Steve clenches down hard on his jaw. He’s had enough of this. “Do you truly think I won’t bring every single soldier I have and burn your place to the ground?” he says slowly, letting his threat ring true. “I’ve done it once. I can do it again.” 

Like the fool that he is, Fury smirks. “Is that what you’ll do Rogers?” 

Steve longs so badly to punch that face into a bloody pulp. Fury wouldn’t be smiling then. 

Finally, he lets his gaze drift from Bucky and it locks right onto Fury. He can’t deal with Becca right now. “You and I both know that it won’t take much. It’ll be child’s play.” 

Fury chuckles. “Maybe. Maybe not. Afterall, you and I both know that you won’t risk harming your son, will you Rogers?” 

As much as Fury has always been an idiot in Steve’s mind, the smug bastard knows what he’s doing. Steve’s eyes shift back to Bucky. His son has always been vulnerable in his mind, but seeing him in that chair, surrounded by those people, it’s so incredibly hard to sit there and not do a damn thing. 

“Then again,” Fury’s voice is ringing out once more, “knowing your sick mind, you’d probably say fuck it and just have another one, right? But no. This boy here is more than just your son, right, Rogers.” Fury tucks his hands behind his back and slowly circles around Bucky before standing behind the chair. Fury’s hands unclasp only to slide onto Bucky’s shoulders. Slowly, he rubs down Bucky’s arms, before making his way back up and resting them against Bucky’s delicate clavicles. “Your own Omega. Just couldn’t resist, could you?” 

Fury is a dead man walking. 

He wants to fucking  _ roar _ . “If you--”

Suddenly, Fury’s moving. He slides his hand over Bucky’s jaw, grabbing him hard enough to have Bucky wincing. Steve shoots to his feet and behind him, he can hear Sam and the others shift. “I’ll do whatever I goddamn please and there is nothing that you can say to stop me. If I see you or any of your forces even a mile from my borders, I will gut your kid and string him up on the front door. A little welcoming gift just for you, Rogers.” The look on Fury’s face changes, turning harder as if he’s holding a knife to Bucky’s throat. “I’m the one in charge here. When I’m ready to make negotiations, I’ll call you. Until then, Rogers, I don’t want to hear a goddamn peep out of you.” 

Before Steve can say or do anything else, the holo screen goes black. He loses it. 

He grabs a hold of one of the desks littered with heavy duty monitors and sends it crashing across the room before slamming his hands down. The metal crunches beneath his palms. It’s hard, but he forces himself to breathe; in and out, in and out, no matter how much it physically hurts to do so. 

The silence is deafening. Nothing but his harsh pants. His thoughts are too caught up in the unknown.  _ This  _ is why Bucky stays at his side. This is why he doesn’t let anyone close. 

He doesn’t know how much time passes until he hears footsteps approach. He senses Sam before he sees him. 

“What’s the order.” 

Steve breathes in deeply through his nose, let’s the air settle and expand in his chest. He can’t afford to stand here and be useless as he is. He needs to force order to calm the storm inside of him. When he straightens up, he’s stone faced and ready to set the world on fire. “Alert the inside source. Tell them Code Red.” 

Sam nods obediently. “What hour, sir.” 

He dreads the idea of having a night without Bucky but it’s not like he’ll be falling asleep anytime soon. But he doesn’t want to attack during the night. He wants to see every inch of S.H.I.E.L.D fall and burn, and he wants to watch as Fury watches it all vanish before his very eye. With darkness comes cover, and Steve doesn’t want to hide. 

“Ten hundred hours.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam says, before he dares to take a step closer. It’s incredibly sentimental when Sam clasps his shoulder just enough to catch Steve’s attention. “We’ll get him back.” 

When he turns to look at Sam, he’s met head on by dark brown eyes. He nods his head. “I know. Push the order than Fury is to be kept alive at all cost. He’ll be executed publicly. Along with that girl.” 

Sam dips his head and does what he does best: he gathers the troops.

* * *

Bucky

* * *

This time, it really is night when Bucky is led back into the room he’d been held in earlier. But unlike before, Becca is with him. 

He’d been devastated to watch his Daddy vanish from the screen but he hadn’t been allowed to move until Natasha pulled Fury to the side and eventually convinced him to dismiss the both of them. On their way out he’d caught snippets of the brunette woman giving the commands of fortifying the entrances. His stomach all but plummeted knowing S.H.I.E.L.D’s soldiers would be preparing for a fight against the Nation. Against his Daddy. People would die soon and it would all be because of him. 

Entering the room, the ugly feelings only intensify when he realizes just how  _ tired  _ he is. He feels exhausted, more than ever before, and as much as he wants to crash on the bed, he has to hold himself together as it dawns on him that he’ll be sleeping without his Daddy there right beside him. He’s never done that before… or at least not that he can remember. It’s always been the two of them and now-- 

The tears gather in his eyes and no matter how tightly he wraps his arms around his abdomen, everything hurts. Becca’s face falls as her gaze lands on him but when she takes a step in his direction, he’s hurrying away from her. 

“I hate you,” he whispers harshly. 

Becca looks hurt and he’s  _ glad  _ because of it. She deserves that pain. “No you don’t,” she tells him. As if she has any idea on how he’s feeling. “You’ve just been under the Commander’s thumb for so long that you can’t think for yourself.” 

On the couch, Natasha watches them closely. Her tablet is held firmly in her hands and it’s shining across her face once more. He has half the mind to tell her to get Becca out of here and somehow, he knows she’d listen to him. But instead, he rounds on Becca. 

“You’re a traitor,” he seethes. “Traitors get  _ killed _ . Daddy kills them. He’s gonna kill you just like he killed Nan--” 

In a move so fast, Becca yanks him by the front of his shirt. “She was our mother, Bucky!” she screeches in his face. “Why can’t you understand that?! She loved--” 

“Release him. Now.” 

The both of them turn to the deadly silent tone of Natasha’s voice. Becca stares for a moment too long, not moving until the gadget around Natasha’s wrist turns a vibrant blue. It’s a threat, a promise. And Bucky smiles as he looks back at Becca. He reaches up and wraps his hand around hers, prying her fingers free. “You heard what she said,” he says. 

With an irritated huff, Becca’s hand falls to her side. 

Becca moves to the couch and when he glances at Natasha again, she sends a wink his way. It feels easier going to the bed and pulling the sheets back. When he slides in, it’s too cold and he shivers as he tries to get comfortable. He opted out of a shower and the faint smell on his clothes is just enough to remind him of home. He can smell himself, his Daddy, and it makes his insides cramp up painfully at the lack of his Daddy. He hugs the spare pillow into his chest as the wave of nausea crashes over him. His body hurts. Everything hurts. 

He falls asleep hoping that when he opens his eyes again, his Daddy will be right there with him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) 
> 
> I've been feeling really bored lately so feel free to hit me up on Tumblr or spam the comment section! I wanna talk!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, it's back! 
> 
> Shocker, I know, and my apologies to everyone who has been wanting this update. It's here now and I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> ** Just an FYI, there is murder and death in this chapter and some of it occurs to kids **

Steve

* * *

Looking in the mirror, Steve watches his reflection with hard, cold eyes. He stares at himself, taking in the look on his own face; how his jaw is set in stone, how the tendons and veins in his neck and arms stand on edge, how his eyes look so lifeless and dull yet bright as the fire within them rages. 

But beneath it all, beneath the anger and the fury, there’s something wrong. Something broken and shattered, something that aches inside of him and plays across his face in a way that only he can see. He doesn’t recognize it at first but once he catches it, it has his breath stuttering inside his chest. Like this, he is no Commander. Not a man in charge of anything, or anyone. He’s just an Alpha hurting for his child, for his mate. He's vulnerable.

It’s been hours -- too many hours, too many minutes. He doesn’t know how much of this he can take before something breaks apart only to never be put back together. Everything hurts but his chest feels like something is physically trying to scratch its way out. It’s like… it’s like when Bucky was taken from him, everything both on the outside and the inside of Steve was turning feral to get him back -- to claim his son, his Omega, to pull that delicate body that Steve created himself back into his side and never, ever let Bucky out of his sight again. He would learn from his mistakes. He would make sure Bucky never left the Capitol again. He would single handedly monitor everyone that came into contact with his son, would secure their borders so well that not even a fucking wood mouse could sneak in. He would kill that girl and Fury and everyone else that so much as  _ looked  _ at Bucky, and would make sure there would be nothing left of their remains, not even the ashes. 

Because she took him. 

Because Steve let it happen. Like a damn fucking fool. 

That girl… Just thinking about her has Steve’s fists tightening at his sides. They beg to hit something, to kill something, to tear something to shreds, but this is their bedroom and he wouldn’t dare ruin an inch of it. In fact, besides this very moment, Steve hadn’t stepped foot inside here, let alone the entirety of their floor. He hasn’t even slept. Sam tried to get him to just as the pitch black of midnight settled in, but all it took was one sharp look from Steve and the man hadn’t bothered again. 

But he  _ is  _ tired. He can feel it in his bones. It’s just not the kind where sleep is the answer. 

Steve sucks in another shaky breath and through the mirror, his eyes shift to the side, landing on their bed. It’s a mess like it normally is -- the comforter bunched up and sprawled haphazardly across the sheets in a way that is far from made. Their pillows form a wall that normally surrounds them, caging them both in and circling along the edge of the mattress like its their own border. It’s tempting to just crawl into it, their little nest, and sleep for eternity. But god how empty it’d be. 

The longer he looks, the stronger his heart aches inside his chest. His sweet boy… 

He hasn’t had the courage to approach the space without Bucky here, and while he could never forget this pain of betrayal and overwhelming anger, a reminder will do him well now that the time for retrieval is so close. He wants to remember this moment-- how empty he is, how lost-- so that every ounce of pain that was shoved onto him is thrown back at the culprits.  _ Oh  _ how he’ll make them beg. 

Slowly, he turns around and makes his way to their bed. His breath catches in his throat as the heavenly scents of them blended together hit his nose, so much stronger on the bed than anywhere else. No one is ever allowed in here, and only a small number is allowed through his front door. When the sheets are washed, it’s him that does it. When the bed is made, it’s him that goes about it while Bucky waits patiently until Steve’s tossing the comforter out up high and then they both dive in before the thick blanket can fall on them. It’s always been their little game, just as it is for Bucky to scramble on top of him and kiss him silly until they’re pushing past the comforter and inhaling fresh air. What he wouldn’t give just to be living a moment like that right now and not-- not this  _ hell _ . 

The sob that wrenches from Steve’s throat almost scares him as it shatters through the quiet of the room. His breath shudders as he reaches out and grabs the blanket, bringing it up to his nose. The sheets ruffle as he drags it across the bed. His eyes close as the smell sinks into him. It’s beautiful-- it’s always beautiful. Intoxicating. It makes his brain hum when he smells himself intertwined with Bucky’s sweetness; a strong musk that penetrates the honey softness of his Omega son. The smell alone of an Omega was enough to turn the attention of an Alpha, but Bucky’s has always been stronger, more sweeter. The most alluring thing Steve has ever come across before. 

_ Fuck _ , it hurts. Even breathing is a struggle with how his lungs clench painfully inside of him, his throat much too thick. Everything aches to hold Bucky, to feel that delicate heart beat pump against Steve’s own, to feel that silk-smooth skin beneath his fingertips. 

Before Steve can stop it, a tear slips down his cheek. He’s broken, nothing but a hollow shell of his former self. It makes him wonder how he used to be, before Bucky was finally brought into this world. He hadn’t even been living, had he? Just going day by day. Simply existing. 

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, before dropping the blanket and straightening himself up. He can’t afford to dwell like this, not when so much rides on the next few hours. He  _ has  _ to be strong. Stronger than ever before. Because Bucky needs him. 

And that’s  _ all  _ that matters. 

He takes another deep breath, holding it in as it fills his lungs. He exhales and it’s not shaky, not anymore. His jaw tightens, his fest clench, and his shoulders round out. 

It’s time to bring Bucky home. 

***

“And the girl?” Sam asks as he snaps in a clip of ammunition into one of his Steyr SPPs. The other is already loaded and locked onto his wrist. Behind them, the top Alpha Strike team gears up as well, clicking their weapons into place and gearing up. 

Standing at the forefront is Steve. He’s in his dark navy stealth suit and his gloves are fastened tight, his knuckles almost tearing through the worn fabric. Unlike them, he doesn’t use guns or bullets. Once upon a time he did, but now he was mightier and stronger than them all. He could rip men in half with his bare hands if he wanted to, and goddamn did he want to. Now more than ever.

There is one piece though, that’s a signature of his own. Grasped in his hands, ready to go, is his shield. It’s a brutal weapon that was constructed just for him. Made of the strongest material and weaponized to return to Steve after every throw. It blocked stray bullets, could swipe a man’s head clean off, could clear a whole floor level with one swing of his arm. And now, it wanted blood to paint its exterior. 

Steve brings his gaze up, barely meeting Sam’s eyes. The plan has already been set in stone but Sam is just getting the final order that way it can be given to their soldiers. “She’s brought back here,” he confirms. “At first sight we contain her. No one lays a finger on her except me.” 

“And the execution?”

Steve doesn’t need to think about it. “Still as planned. Public. I want everyone to see.” 

“Everyone, Commander?” 

He can hear the unspoken question in Sam’s words. What Sam is really asking is,  _ ‘Including Bucky?’  _ If Steve had his way, it would be no. His son is innocent in this world, untouched by the sins of murder and death.  _ But _ . That was before. When him and Sam had reached the abandoned vehicle, death had been the only thing left and Steve knew that Bucky had watched it all. There would have been no way that that girl had been able to extract Bucky from the car before she killed the guards. She would have killed them right in front of him. Their blood had probably splattered against his innocent son, staining his skin. If Bucky could have endured those murders, a few more wouldn’t hurt him. And even if they did, this time Steve would be the one to comfort Bucky and ease all the hurt away. 

Steve reaches up and latches the shield onto his back. The weight is a comforting feeling. He lets out a deep breath, rolling his neck and shoulder as the adrenalin starts to pour in. With one last glance at Sam, he answers, “Bucky will be the one to give the order.” 

Sam nods.

***

All hell breaks loose and it shines in Steve’s eyes.

* * *

Bucky

* * *

“James.  _ James _ , you need to get up.” 

He wakes up with hands shaking him rapidly, urgently. A flash of red hair tells him it’s Natasha and the realization calms his panic, but only slightly because something else has his attention.

He… hurts. His head feels fuzzy and he has to clutch at his tummy as a painful ripple courses through him. Except when he does, he finds that he’s covered in sweat that clings to his skin. His shirt is damp against him and his hair sticks across his forehead and neck. It’s hot and nothing feels right. He’s never felt like this before. 

Another cramp goes through his stomach and he whimpers at the feeling. He grabs at himself, pushing down, but it doesn’t help. “It h-hurts.” 

He turns his pleading gaze towards Natasha, hoping that she can help him, but all he finds is a slight frayed look in her green eyes. They look wild even though she seems calm and collected. “Well. This is a problem.” 

His gaze widens at that. A  _ problem _ ? Is he sick? Dying? His face must portray his own panic because Natasha reaches down and brushes the damp hair from his face. “Everything’s fine, James,” she tells him. “You’re okay. We just need to get you to--” 

Just then a crash sounds the room. He jolts at the sound and then at how fast Natasha whips around and stands in front of him, her wrist blaster out and aimed. There’s another commotion and when he peeks around her, he finds a disheveled Becca standing in the doorway of where the bathroom was, a ruined door scattered into pieces around her. Just like Natasha, her eyes are wild but also angry. 

“Why was the door lock--” Becca’s words abruptly die in her throat as her nose twitches. 

He’s never been scared of her but when he visibly watches as her eyes darken, he scoots back further on the bed and pulls up the sheets as if they can protect him. 

“His heat,” Becca gasps and takes a step to advance. “Bucky, are you--” 

Except Natasha’s wrist blaster hums and turns a dangerous looking electric blue that has Becca stopping in her tracks. 

Becca’s eyes narrow. “He’s my brother. I’m not like the Commander. Bucky  _ needs  _ me. The first heat is always the most dangerous, you know that! He needs help!” 

“You’re the last person he needs. I have my orders and they don’t include you.” Natasha’s voice is deadly, making the room feel so cold suddenly. 

“Orders?” Becca echoes and then her face closes off, turning hard and scary just like Natasha’s voice. “Orders from who?” 

Natasha doesn’t answer. 

He doesn’t know what answer Becca was expecting but whatever it was, she’s not happy about it. She shakes her head. “You’re on his side,” she seethes. “Of course you are.” And then, she’s shooting forward. 

It all happens faster than he can process. One second Becca is across the room, then the next she’s flying toward Natasha. Becca strikes low but Natasha easily blocks it and does a move that passes in a blur that results in Becca sprawled on the floor. Natasha moves to step over her, her face blank of anything. “You’re a child,” she says. 

On the ground, Becca sneers up at Natasha. “Fuck. You.” 

“I admire your tenacity but James and I are leaving, and unfortunately, you haven’t been invited. If you know what’s best for you, you won’t move another muscle.” Her wrist is held down and aimed at Becca and he may not know what the weapon is, but he knows he wouldn’t want it anywhere near him. 

And even though he shouldn’t care about what happens to his sister, he doesn’t want her to get hurt. He looks at her, silently pleading for her to listen, but she doesn’t. She never does. Becca swipes out her leg but before it can connect with Natasha, a blue shock fires from her wrist and Becca’s body vibrates for a few good seconds until she turns still. 

His heartbeat is pounding in his chest as he watches his sister’s eyes close. He holds his breath and he can feel a nasty sinking feeling happen inside of him, his eyes and mouth open in shock. Becca can’t be… she can’t--

“She’s alive, just knocked out,” Natasha informs him and then she’s spinning back around toward him and crosses the room, pulling him up from the bed. “Come on,” she tells him. “We have to go before--” 

She’s cut off by a high-pitched wail and it isn’t until she’s running her hands over him again that he realizes the noise came from him. He’d been too busy curling up in himself as another terrible pain shot through him. 

He hears her curse under her breath and there’s still panic there too, something that’s scaring him more and more with each minute that passes. She sends a quick glance towards Becca and starts to move as if she’s leaving his side but he reaches out and grabs her arm, making her freeze as she looks back at him. “Natasha…” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “What’s wrong with me?” 

“Nothing’s wrong, James,” she tells him softly in return. “You’re just starting your first heat.” 

His eyes go wide. His  _ heat _ ? His heat!! Finally. He can’t wait until he can tell his-- another cramp shoots through his stomach. This one is stronger than all of the others so far and he cries as it ripples through him. He thought his heat was supposed to feel  _ good _ . Not-- not  _ this _ . This feels like he’s dying. Like he’s being torn apart. 

And then, it’s not just him that’s hurting. Suddenly, the lights start to frantic in the room and he may be dizzy, but there’s no missing how the room shakes ever so slightly. There’s a loud grumble from somewhere up above him. To him, it feels and sounds like the building is crumbling. And maybe it is, given how Natasha flies to her feet and reaches down to pick up his shoes off the floor. 

She yanks the sheets off of him and she hesitates for the smallest of seconds as she turns her head to the side and takes in a deep breath before facing him again. The room shakes again and she’s frantic now as she forces his shoes back on his feet. 

“Natasha-- what--” She shushes him. Tells him to relax. That everything will be fine. But he can’t because he’s burning, and he’s on fire and it all hurts  _ so  _ much, and their surroundings are crumbling. Literally. The ceiling has started to cry dust as debris starts to trickle down. 

“We can’t stay here. We have to move.” She grabs his hand, starting to pull him up. 

“I-Is it Daddy?” 

“We don’t have time, James.” 

“ _ Is it him?! _ ” he screams, retching free of her grasp. 

She pauses. He takes in a shaky breath, then another, until carefully, she meets his gaze. “Yes. Now we need to get you to him.” And before he can say anything more, she’s hoisting him out of the bed and carrying him to the door. She has to put him on his feet as she works the door, and he tries his hardest to stand on solid legs but his knees buckle and he starts to lean sideways until Natasha is grabbing onto him and straightening him up once again. “Come on, James. Stay with me. Just a little bit longer.” 

Longer? Until when? If his daddy is here, then it’s time to see him now. He wants to ask, but his lips don’t feel right and he’s so, so thirsty. His throat is too dry. 

Natasha opens the door and they both step out into the hallway. Despite the pain, and the aches, and the way he has to lean into Natasha’s side as her arm holds him close, his eyes go wide at the destruction. 

* * *

Steve

* * *

The crunch of bone is always pleasing, but pulling his boot out of a man’s skull and watching the blood and brain splatter drip from the sole’s of his shoes makes him grin. The rest of his Elite Alpha team file into the room around him but he’s already cleared it with a few throws of his shield and aiming the trajectory of bullets that way the S.H.I.E.L.D. soldiers took out their own men. 

The soldiers here are weak. Laughably so. He’d been scared shitless when Fury threatened him, but his inside source called the man’s bluff. S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t even have enough manpower to double up the guards along their entrance, let alone the rest of their headquarters. The main gates had been blown open and they’d practically been invited in by a welcome mat made of the soldiers injured by the initial blasts. 

Now, they’re deep inside and they’ve come across just over three dozen guards that him and his team have put down with ease. So much in fact that apart from him and the Elite Alpha team, Sam and the other half of the team in the other wing of the building, the rest of their soldiers were on stand-by in a perimeter surrounding the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters just in case any tried to escape through back exits. He’d given them all a strict shoot-to-kill order with the exception of all children. He wouldn’t dare risk any of them pulling the trigger against his own son. 

Not to forget Fury and that bitch of a girl. He’d made it clear to all of his soldiers that if any harm was to be inflicted on either of them, they would be taking their place in the public execution. That certainly seemed to get the message across. 

There hasn’t been any sign of Fury or the girl, but he’s still a distance away from the coordinates that his source depicted they’d meet at. 

He lets his team run ahead into the next hallway as he wipes his boot on the dead soldier’s uniform. Given how the floor is a lake of red, it’s a pointless action to do but just looking at that fucking eagle symbol get ruined with the stain of his boot has him rumbling with pride. After today, he won’t have to ever see it again. 

He hears the spray of gunfire from the next room over and shouts, screams. He doesn’t hear any shots in return. He picks up his head and makes his way to the doorway where he’s met by one of his men. 

“Civilians, sir. All adults have been terminated.” 

He nods and strides into the room. It’s eerily quiet as he sweeps his gaze over the small huddle of children, his men all standing along the walls, guns pointed at the floor. There’s six of them. Three boys, three girls. The smallest one barely reaches his knees. The oldest one is a few years above Bucky. They all look to him with wide, terror-filled eyes. They all cower in front of him. Some of the younger ones have their eyes squeezed tight. 

“None of them are your son, sir. We’ve double checked, but followed your orders of no-kill.” 

He ignores his soldier. He’ll do all the checking on his own even though he already knows none of these are his son. He can’t smell Bucky, can’t feel him. But he still checks. He can’t afford not to. 

He gets halfway down the line when one of the boys looks up at him. Blond. Brown eyes. So  _ wrong _ . “Please, sir,” the kid whimpers. 

Once upon a time, he may have shown mercy but mercy was dangerous and now he had something worthy to protect. Something to love. He couldn’t afford such a thing as mercy now. 

“Sorry, kid,” he says, “but you’re not the one who I’m looking for.” He reaches out and closes the kid’s eyes with his fingertips. He steps back and gives the nod to his men as he starts in the direction for the next room. Just as he passes the doorframe, the bullets fire off behind him. 

He hears the thud of the children falling to the ground. 

He keeps moving forward.

* * *

Bucky

* * *

He shouts as a loud blast rumbles throughout the building but Natasha is quick to cover his mouth with her hand as she keeps pushing them forward. He doesn’t know where they’re going, but it has to be better than this. Better than dying. But none of this is safe. He’s terrified more than ever and while Natasha keeps telling him he’s fine, he certainly doesn’t feel like it. Everything is muddled together, foggy, and every so often they have to stop as Natasha checks him over. It can’t be good, with how she keeps cursing and telling him that they need to hurry. 

The lights have gone from white to red to white again, but they’re dimmer now and there’s silent flashing emergency lights that shine in every hallway they go down. He hears shouts, screaming, and the same sounds he’s gotten used to when he accompanied his daddy on the training grounds at the Capitol. They’re loud, dangerous sounding. He’s never much liked the noise of guns. 

It isn’t until they reach one hallway where he gasps loudly and tries to spin around to go back to wherever they came from-- someplace safe-- but Natasha’s grip on his arm stops him from taking so much as a step. “No, James,” she tells him. “We have to keep going. This is the only way to the rendezvous point.” 

He shakes his head, refusing to look down the hall, at the-- “I d-don’t want to be here any-anymore. Please, Natasha. L-let’s go back. Please.” 

Natasha doesn’t budge. “No. Just close your eyes. Close your eyes, James.” 

He gives her one last pleading look hoping she’ll listen to him, but it becomes clear that she’ll be doing no such thing. So he closes his eyes and lets her pull him along the hall. He has one arm wrapped around himself as they move forward slowly. He slips up once but he refuses to open his eyes and look down at the sea of red he had seen earlier. Every so often Natasha redirects him or picks him up entirely to step over the bodies. It feels like forever until Natasha instructs him that he can open his eyes back up. 

The next few hallways and rooms that they go through are ruined in various degrees and there’s only two times where Natasha tells him to close his eyes. The further they go, it seems like the noises get louder. Gunfire, screams,  _ chaos _ . Like nightmares have been brought to life and now he has to live through it. It doesn’t help that the longer he stays upright, the more it feels like something inside of him is trying to rip itself out. Everything itches, everything burns, and his underwear feels wet just like the rest of his clothes. 

Natasha is like a snake that winds its way across a forest floor, not stopping once as she drags him along. She keeps telling him they’re ‘almost there’, that ‘he’s okay’, and ‘just a little bit longer, James’, and he has no choice but to listen to her and believe that she’s telling the truth. He’s never trusted anyone else apart from his daddy, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. Not now. 

He’s able to make it down three more halls until his knees give out and he slumps against Nat’s side. He wants to keep going but it’s as if his body is completely depleted. He struggles just keeping his eyes open. 

Natasha lowers him to the floor, crouching in front of him. “I’m going to carry you, okay? Just keep focusing on my voice. Keep breathing; in through your nose, out through your mouth. You can do it, James.” 

He tries to nod but his head just falls back against the wall, thumping softly. Natasha heaves him into her arms and the rest is… a blur. His eyes close but he can see shadows and lights pass by overhead. He can still hear the chaos but he does his best to listen to his breathing instead. He needs to be strong. Strong like his daddy. 

But then, he’s stopping and it happens so fast that he nearly topples out of Natasha’s hands. His eyes shoot open and there in front of them are a handful of soldiers.  _ S.H.I.E.L.D _ . soldiers. All with their weapons raised and aimed and confusion on their faces. It’s deathly quiet as they all look from Natasha, then to him. 

Slowly, Natasha bends to place his feet on the floor. She doesn’t let go of him as she pushes him completely behind her, tipping her head toward them. “Fellas… let’s not be too hasty.” 

“The boy!” one of them shouts, and this whole time they’ve been trying to avoid the chaos but it’s finally caught up to them. 

One moves their hand to the trigger and in a flash, Natasha is throwing him to the ground as she catapults forward. The guns start firing and he clutches his hands over his ears, curling into a ball, and squeezing his eyes shut. Everything is shaking around him

He wants to go home.

He wants his daddy. So much.  _ So much _ . 

The gunfire drowns everything out, even time. He doesn’t know what will happen once Natasha isn’t there anymore because without her, he’s all alone. Maybe Becca would find him. Or the eyepatch man. 

The ground shakes violently beneath him and even though he can’t hear himself, he knows he’s screaming. Lights are flashing and he’s burning up to the point that he presses his body into the cool cement just to ease some of the pain that won’t escape him. 

And then, it’s quiet. 

But he isn’t. 

He keeps screaming, over and over and  _ over _ . 

Someone reaches him and he thrashes against them, kicking and scratching, refusing to look at them because he doesn’t want this. He never did. He just wants to be home. Safe. In his daddy’s arms. In their bed. Far, far, away from here. 

“No, no-- let me go!” he screams as hands grab at him, picking him up. “Please! Stop!” 

“ _ James _ ! Enough. James, look at me.” 

He knows that voice. Natasha? How? His eyes open as her arms wrap around him in a tight hug, her red hair a curtain against him. But he can see through it, spotting the dead bodies of all of the S.H.I.E.L.D. soldiers from before. They all lay motionless on the floor, some splattered with red, some staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. He looks on in disbelief. She took them all out? For him? She had protected him against her own side. The question of why hangs on his tongue but he can’t ask. He doesn’t want to. 

“Five minutes,” she says and when he looks up, she’s holding her ear. He recognizes the earpiece. He’s seen his daddy wear them before. “Yes sir, Commander. On our way now.” And then she’s looking down at him, brushing his wet hair back from his face again. “Let’s get you home. What do you say?” 

Wordlessly, he nods. She doesn’t let him go as they progress and if anything, he holds onto her tighter. As they go, he stares at the floor as he steps into a puddle of blood. The color is ugly. He doesn’t like it. 

He frowns as he realizes he’s ruined his shoes.

* * *

Steve

* * *

The place is in ruins. After today, S.H.I.E.L.D. won’t be anything but a memory that eventually even time will forget. 

Steadily, he’s led his team deeper into the base , getting closer to the meeting point of the coordinates he was sent. He’s been following the instructions down to the ‘t’, counting down even his footsteps. Him and his team have taken out everyone in their sight and Sam’s been doing the same. They’re set to all meet at the coordinates in t-minus five minutes, with him cleaning up the Northern part of the building and Sam taking out the South. It’ll be a clean sweep of the inside unless they choose to run out the perimeter exits, then the soldiers outside will take care of them. Then, he’ll just grab Bucky, acquire Fury and the girl, and they’ll all exit together. The explosives unit has been trailing behind both teams and they’ve been planting their devices. Once the all-clear is given, they’ll all get to watch S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters cease to exist. 

The coordinates lead him to a large room. It’s a vaulted door with the S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem but with a quick signal of his fingers, triggers are put into place and they all back up as the explosions go off. The solid steel door lets out a loud creak until it’s falling forward and crashing at their feet. The ground shakes with the fall and as the smoke starts to settle, he crosses the threshold ignoring the small flames that have yet to die out. The smell settles deep into his lungs. Destruction, chaos,  _ revenge _ . 

His shield is up in an instant as bullets rain at him. They hit his shield, making sparks fly every which way. He counts sixteen men all lined up as if he was supposed to be met with a firing squad. He almost laughs. 

One of his men ducks beneath his shield on his left, another goes down on his right, and they light the room up with ease, sweeping across the entire room as the other soldiers wait back behind. It’s standard formation, almost like clock-work in a training practice. Everything here is  _ too  _ easy. Surely Fury wanted to have an actual fight sooner or later. There hasn’t been sight of him yet.

The last of the S.H.I.E.L.D. soldiers fall lifelessly to the ground. Bullet casings are everywhere, littering the floor like crumbs. There’s an open doorway to the left, and another at the right, and he flicks his fingers at them, making his team fall into action. They need to protect the room. Bucky isn’t here yet, but he’ll be here soon. He taps against his ear piece just to make sure. 

“Almost there, Commander,” his insider tells him. 

He curses impatiently. What could possibly be taking them long? Unless one of them was injured… no, he would have been told. Still… Bucky was supposed to be here before him. His hand presses against his ear piece again as he gets ready to tell his source to double time it when suddenly loud blasts to his left have two of his soldiers flying back in a spray of red, hitting the ground wide-eyed and lifeless. 

The other soldiers flock to the attack but another is shot dead and before Steve can do anything, a dozen or so S.H.I.E.L.D. soldiers are filling into the room, their guns up and aimed and transforming the room into a battleground. He grins at the onslaught of noises that reach his ears as he steps in the direction of the action. 

And then, there she is. 

Everything in front of him fades into nothing as his sight locks on the girl. There’s a S.H.I.E.L.D. jacket that covers her torso and a hat that holds her hair back, but there’s no missing her. He’s already honed in on her scent-- the disgusting thing that it is-- and he charges straight for her. 

The girl shoots one time in a different direction but when he roars-- a loud, guttural, furious sound-- she’s spinning toward him frantically, desperately, and popping off shots that he lets sink into his body, knowing the bullets of her pistol won’t hinder him. He doesn’t bother with his shield, doesn’t bother commanding the other soldiers. This is about him and her. No one else. 

When he reaches her, he slaps away her gun and grabs her by the throat, pulling her in close so that he can see her face. He wants her to remember everything about this moment, how she looked at her own death in the eyes. Her maker in so many different ways. 

Her eyes-- hazel, not blue, not  _ his--  _ get wide before he’s lifting her up and slamming her onto her back, the wind getting knocked out of her as she gasps for air. He doesn’t relent, not by an inch. 

His hand is tight around her neck and he gets his other one on her too, squeezing until she starts to turn blue in the face and she’s thrashing against him. His arms shake with the power that begs to be unleashed and while every fiber in his being wants to refuse to let go, he can’t kill her like this. She doesn’t deserve such a quick death. He wants it strung out, filled with so much pain that she’ll beg him to end her. Her maker and her ender. 

When he releases her, she heaves in air greedily, letting it bring life back into her body as so much death falls around them. He’s been counting off the remaining soldiers in his head and little does the girl know that Sam has already joined in the ranks, his team backing up Steve’s and taking out all those remaining rebels. 

The girl is almost entirely alone. Then again, she always has been. 

He’s kicked away her weapon and she’s utterly useless now as she catches her breath. She isn’t a threat to him and so he sweeps his gaze around the room, making sure the entranceways are clear. The one on the left still has S.H.I.E.L.D. soldiers trickling in every few seconds and he can’t risk a war zone when Bucky is so close to being there. All it will take is one--

In a flash the girl is unsheathing a dagger from her belt and is flying up on her feet, going for his throat. An inch away from the tip slicing into his skin, he’s stopping her arm with a bone-shattering grab, making her cry out and drop her weapon. 

He pulls her arm to the side and the angle gives him a clear area to send a punch clean across her cheek, forcing her head to the side under the impact. Her gaze goes fuzzy as she crumples to the ground but she’s still lucid. Good. He wants her to feel everything.  _ Everything _ . 

“You tried to take him away from me.” 

“ _ Tried _ ?” she coughs out roughly. “No… you’ll  _ never  _ have him. They’ll make sure of that.” 

“Look around you. This place won’t exist anymore after today. Whose fault do you think that is? So many innocent lives…  _ wasted…  _ because I hadn’t bothered to kill you the moment you were born.” 

A look flashes across her face. Christ, he hates that face. How could she be the same product as his precious Omega, a simple yet intricate tangle of genetics that could have such opposite effects? He should have killed her. He doesn’t know why he didn’t. 

“It doesn’t matter. He can hate me all he wants but I did what I did for him,” she seethes. “To save him  _ from  _ you. He’s a kid and you’re a fucking monster.” 

He huffed out a laugh, sneering at her and reaching to grab at the collar of her shirt, pulling her up and close enough that he can seethe in front of her face. “Maybe I am. But if you think that, then just wait for what’s going to happen to you. All of my past sins will look like fucking mercy. You’re gonna wish--” 

The words instantly die in his throat. Everything stops. His muscles lock up. Goosebumps erupt across his skin and dance down his spine. His nostrils flare and he takes a deep, greedy breath just as every other Alpha in the room does, too. 

Running on instincts, his head snaps to the side, following the intoxicating scent with his nose. It’s honey and sugar and everything nice,  _ addicting _ , and beneath it, is the very smell that makes every vessel in his body freeze, ready to spring to life. It’s the smell of lavender, and fresh pine, and warm linen sheets. It’s the very smell that Steve has cherished above all else for the past fourteen years. 

_ Bucky _ . 

His son, his Omega. 

He releases the girl and she drops to the ground with a thud, disregarded. He moves to step away from her but she’s scrambling to grab at his legs, trying anything and everything she can to stop him from progressing. In her desperation she grabs at his boots and yanks, making his attention fly to her. 

The growl starts low in his throat before he’s rearing his leg back and giving one solid kick that throws her head back and causes blood to spurt past her lips. He moves again to step away and shockingly, the girl scrambles for him again. Her fingers are slick with blood and she slips but he’s reaching down and grabbing at that stupid S.H.I.E.L.D. jacket and hoisting her up by it. He’s lost his patience. 

With a roar of frustration, he’s tossing her across the room and watching in satisfaction as she lands in a messy heap near Sam’s feet. The moment she goes down, two of his guards are aiming the ends of their AK’s at her skull and Sam is shackling her wrists together with restraints no mere human could ever break.

Around the room, his soldiers are downing the last small wave of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents that have stepped into the room. One of the younger soldiers mistakes Steve’s actions as a distraction and tries to attack him with a knife similar to the one the girl had used. He disarms the agent with an easy block of one arm while the other goes right into the young man’s throat, splitting him open like fucking butter, and pulling flesh out as fingers retract. 

Another nearby enemy tries to launch forward as he’s distracted but they drop dead as someone sends a bullet straight between the man’s eyebrows. 

A bullet that comes from across the room where none of his soldiers are standing. 

He spins around. 

His eyes land on the Black Widow and the gun held out in front of her but beside her… hidden partially from Steve’s view, is Bucky. 

There’s his boy. 

His Omega-- his  _ everything--  _ who is… is staring back at Steve with wide, panicked eyes.  _ Fear…  _ Steve’s mind realizes. Bucky’s never looked at him like that before. It guts him, almost making him double over. 

He can’t find the will to look away from his beautiful boy, but he knows the sight he must be. Covered in blood and soot. A nightmare, no doubt, to Bucky who has never seen any of this type of violence before. Or at least not this much violence created by Steve’s own actions. 

He hates that Bucky has to see him like this, but more concerning matters are suddenly dawning on him. Looking past the terror in his son’s gaze, he’s more than aware of the things that are so much more important. 

There’s a fine sheen of sweat covering Bucky’s skin. His brown hair is damp across his forehead and plastered to his cheeks. His lips are pink and raw and wet as if he’s been chewing on them for hours-- a habit that he’s always had. His eyes are wide with his fear but they’re also glazed over, unfocusing on everything in front of him. And then, there’s the smell. The glorious scent that had Steve freezing earlier. It makes sense now, as to why his mouth started to water and his hands started to tremble and his knees had threatened to buckle beneath him. 

Bucky is in  _ heat _ . 

As a desperate man, Steve is finally able to step toward his son. 

Only-- only Bucky takes one back. 

Something horrid churns in Steve’s stomach. It burns down his throat and into his ribs, spreading like a sickness. Bucky’s scared of him, and not only him, but everything happening around them. 

He lowers himself to not seem as intimidating and all that remains in the room is him and his forces, along with the girl. Bucky has nothing to be afraid of, not anymore. 

Holding out his hand, Steve desperately tries to beckon Bucky forward like he’s a skittish, wild animal. “Baby boy… it’s me,” he whispers, taking another step with his hand still extended. Again, Bucky takes a step back and he would take another except the Black Widow is grabbing him gently by the shoulder. There is no missing how Bucky’s body trembles at the touch. 

He tries his best to ignore how he sees red, how he wants nothing more than to tear that woman into pieces. It’s hard, but he needs to have his arms around Bucky even more. 

“Bucky, sweetheart,  _ please _ ,” he continues. 

The Widow steps to the side and leans forward just enough that she can whisper something into his son’s ear. Steve watches as Bucky’s head turns to her, and there’s some form of silent communication that Steve can’t decipher that occurs between them. There’s red again-- so much red-- but then he’s clenching down hard on his jaw just as the Widow gently nudges Bucky forward. 

It’s as if with her encouragement Bucky finally snaps out of whatever confusion overcame him. Only, as he tries to take off in Steve’s direction-- smiling so beautifully and eager as his legs start to move-- he only manages to take a few steps before pain laces across his face and he’s dropping to the ground. 

Except Steve’s up and moving and his arms wrap around Bucky, pulling him close, before his son can hit the ground. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter is all we have left to go! 
> 
> Also, thank you to everyone who has left kudos and comments. It means the absolute world to me :)


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